Chasing Shadows
by tabularasa88
Summary: "Who is that?" Nora hissed as she stared at Sookie. "That is the one girl you won't be able to live up to," Pam replied. "Believe me, many have tried and I've seen them all fail. So, Nora, don't even try." AH-AU
1. Chapter 1

"_He's been in an accident. You have to come home."_

Sookie shifted in her seat and pulled the window shutter up. It was a starless night. Even in the dark she could see the smog in the air. Nothing had changed in three years. Her world was still dark. It had been dark since the night her mother married her second husband.

"_Pam said he'll be fine. He's stable. He only had shallow cuts and bruises. And probably a fractured arm. Must you really rush back to Seattle for this?"_

Bill said he understood. But he never did. No one could understand her bond with him. From the first time she saw him flash his self-indulgent smirk in her direction as he walked up to the meanest bully in their street she knew right then that he was a cut above the rest.

* * *

_"Why did you tell him?" she asked Bill through gritted teeth, her fingers curling into a fist._

_"Do you really think he wouldn't find out?" Bill countered her question with another question. "Isn't it best that he hears it from one of us?"_

_She fell silent. Bill was right. He would find out eventually. She only wished she would be the one to tell him. As to when it would be, that she didn't know. She couldn't go home. Not yet._

* * *

She shrugged her tailored black jacket off as soon as she got inside the cab. It was wet and she was cold. Heavy rain welcomed her home. How rhetoric.

But it wasn't like the universe was conspiring against her. It was September and it was Seattle.

"Seattle Gen, please," she told the middle-aged driver with a thick gray beard that made him look like Santa Claus.

After getting stuck in the rush hour traffic for almost half an hour, she finally reached her destination.

She caught her reflection on the automatic glass doors as she dashed into the lobby of Seattle General Hospital. God, she looked like a wet dog. Her hair that was pulled up in a French bun was damp and sticking to her forehead. And her silk beige blouse was decorated with skidding droplets of water. Her skinny black slacks were, thankfully, still presentable. But she was still a mess. She was in such haste to catch the first flight out of New York that she didn't bother to change out of her office clothes.

She went to the reception in the middle of the lobby. "Can I have Eric Northman's room, please? He was brought here last night. Motorcycle accident."

"Sookie!" she heard someone yell from one of the winding corridors of the hospital.

She turned to the sound. Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled. It wasn't a _so-nice-to-see-you-again _smile. It was more of a sigh of relief.

"Where is he?"

"He's still out. But the doctors said there's no concussion. Thank God!"

Sookie could feel the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. She tried hard not to blink.

"Mom?" Sookie asked in a hush.

Pam shook her head. "They left an hour ago."

"With Godric?" Sookie asked.

"And Lilith."

"Oh."

They stepped inside the small lift that would take them up to the third floor, where Eric's private room was.

"Nora's here, too," Pam whispered as they walked side by side in the well-lit hallway.

Sookie bobbed her head, pulling her bag behind her. She had heard about Nora. Every time Sookie would call her sister, Pam would fill her in with gossip. Some she didn't need to know while some she didn't want to know. Nora was in both categories. She didn't need nor want to hear about Eric's newest fling.

"But she went down to get us coffee so if we hurry we can still lock her out of his room," Pam whispered conspiratorially.

Sookie chuckled. It was a hollow sound. Meant only to humor her younger sibling.

They reached his room. The sound coming from the television clashed with the soft beeping of the heart rate monitor beside his bed.

The breathlessness that overtook her caught her by surprise. It wasn't because of the superficial cuts that looked out of place on his handsome face. It wasn't because he looked so fragile in a white hospital gown that was so different from his usual black tees and stonewashed jeans.

It was because it had been too long since she had been in the same room with him. Too damn long.

With slow, uncertain steps she approached the side of his bed, running the tip of her fingers on the white blanket that covered half of his body.

His palm was turned up, revealing the inside of his wrist, where the IV needle was attached.

His hair was longer from the last time she had seen him. But not as long as when he was 12 years old and his grandmother, Lilith, would not let him have a hair cut because of her fascination with the young and hunky Fabio from her pocketbook covers.

Even when his eyelids were shut she could still discern the telltale of the bags under his eyes. He seemed tired. Tired from his restlessness and his seemingly endless search for the next big adventure.

* * *

"_Quit being a wimp, Stackhouse. Join us this weekend," she remembered him goading her to accompany him when he and his 'minions' were going to Tum Tum Mountain because one of them had the brilliant idea to bungee jump over the Pacific Northwest Bridge. She was 13 then and he was 15. _

"_Let me get this straight? You want me to take a 200-foot fall directly over a river with nothing but a buncha strings to hold me?" Sarcasm was dripping in her voice. _

_He rolled his eyes. "Not strings. Harness. You make it sound so reckless and juvenile."_

"_Because _it is_ reckless and juvenile."_

_He tugged the end of her one-sided braid. "Live a little, Stackhouse," he said with a wink. Then he leaned forward until his lips were almost touching her earlobe. "And you can relax. I'll be there to catch you."_

_She swatted his upper arm with the back of her hand, which made him chuckle. "Think about it," he said before he turned around and left her to tend to her rose garden. _

_She was glad he didn't stay or he would have seen her cheeks turn rosier than her flowers. _

* * *

"Eric?" she whispered as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Can you hear me?" she asked. Pushing stray hair off his forehead, she let her fingers graze his temple. "The tree that Barkley crashed into was fine. I can't say the same about Barkley though. Not after I send that bike of yours to the chop shop." Barkley was the name Eric gave his black 1997 Harley Davidson. The motorcycle he was driving when he had the accident.

A mix between a snort and a cough gave him away. He was awake. He had been awake long before she came. He had fought the drowsiness the drugs brought as soon as Pam told him she was coming home.

He knew it was her without looking at her. He felt her before he smelled her.

He could pick her scent from a wide array of perfumes. She had been wearing the same brand since she was a teenager.

His eyes fluttered before they zeroed in on her face. Those warm blue eyes. Her small pixie nose. Her wet, pouting lips. And her rich blonde hair that was almost the same shade as his natural color. He had made it a point to have his dyed three shades darker than hers.

"You're here," he stated lamely.

"Someone has to kick your ass," she volleyed just as feebly.

Their eyes locked, and they fell into another uncomfortable silence. They both knew why he went out that night, drunk and agitated. He found out she had married his oldest friend, Bill Compton.

"Where's your husband?" he almost growled when he broke the impasse.

She bit hard, turning her gaze from his face to the machines attached to his chest, which was starting to spike at an alarming rate.

"He's in New York. He'll be here after he closed up all our accounts there," she stated in a flat tone.

Another awkward lull.

"_All_ your accounts?" Always the wolf, he never missed a word.

"We're moving back here," she replied, keeping her eyes trained on the heart rate monitor while evading his scrutinizing gaze.

He didn't reply. He pressed his cheek against the pillow and closed his eyes.

"You should go back to sleep. Don't worry, I'll let you say your goodbyes to Barkley," she patted his bed after she slid off. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She was about to march out of the door when his hand caught hers.

"Stay." He didn't open his eyes as his fingers tightened around hers.

"I will." And she did.

* * *

Pam, who was scrolling through her messages on the phone as she leaned at the side of the door, looked up to greet the brunette holding out a disposable cup of coffee to her.

"Medium roast. Two Splenda. No foam," Nora enumerated Pam's order.

"Thanks."

Pam followed Nora as the dark-haired beauty waltzed inside Eric's room.

Sookie and Eric had fallen asleep. She was in the brown lounge chair near the bed with her head lying just below his armpit while his arm that was connected to the IV was resting over her back.

"Who is that?" Nora whisper-hissed when Pam seized her elbow and pulled her out of the room.

Pam's lips curved into a leer. "_That_ is the one girl you won't be able to live up to. Believe me, many have tried and I've seen them all fail," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "So, Nora, don't even try."

"Sookie," Nora breathed out the name of her rival. Of course she knew Sookie. Every family had a secret. Sookie was the Northmans' skeleton in the closet.

Someone clearing her throat loudly broke Nora's reverie. It was the night shift nurse, making her usual rounds to take Eric's vital stats.

"Who will be staying with Mr. Northman tonight?"

"That'll be Sookie. She's already inside. You can wake her up if you need her to move," Pam replied, shooting Nora a silencing glare when the brunette looked like she was about to object.

"I'm sorry. Only family members are allowed to stay overnight," the nurse with the soft but shrill voice said.

"She's family. She's his stepsister."

* * *

**A/N: I don't own True Blood. **

**This might rub some of you the wrong way. My apologies in advance. Rest assured this is E/S endgame and there will be HEA for them. No they are not connected by blood. In this fic, Pam is Sookie's sibling, while Godric is Eric's father, who married the widow Michelle Stackhouse. **

**Thanks for reading. If you are to leave a comment, can you please be gentle? **


	2. Chapter 2

Every scar had a story. A memory embedded in his flesh making terrible days impossible to forget.

The pale patch of skin on his knee was when he lost his footing on one of the ladder rungs of his treehouse when he was seven. It wasn't because he was clumsy. It was because his father had yelled his name so loud and so frantic that Eric thought the entire block thought there was a fire.

There was only one reason his father would shriek like a banshee: _His mother had another seizure_. Ever since his mother had been diagnosed with a rare form of epilepsy five years ago it had been an everyday battle for the Northmans. Every day could be the last for her.

Eric had scraped his knee against the rough branch when he tried to break his fall by hooking his leg on one of the nailed up steps. He fell flat on his ass and he cringed as he pulled his bloody knee to his chest.

He couldn't remember how he managed to push himself up and skip back inside the house. He was trying to get to her quickly.

But he wasn't fast enough.

His skinned knee had been nothing but a filmy patch by the time he could remember how he got it in the first place. Because for a very long time, the only memory that scar brought was the day he was too late to say goodbye to his mother.

* * *

**E/S**

The small slash under his chin was from the first fight he almost lost.

That was too close a call.

Four years after his wife died, Godric finally found the courage to pack up their bags, leave their house in Chicago and relocate to Seattle with his 11-year-old son.

Eric was the new kid in town. It was one bleak Saturday when he decided to break-in his badass mountain bike to get the lay of the land. Although they managed to get a house in the city, the subdivision they were in was still ho-hum compared to their residence in Chicago. Everything screamed suburbs.

As he sped off through one of the streets, he heard a rumble of voices from the small park on the corner under the jungle gym.

Ah, street fight.

"Idiots," he muttered under his breath.

His eyes made a quick scan of the surrounding. This was pathetic, he thought in disdain. His foot was already on the pedal, gearing up to drive away, when he caught a glimpse of a girl in a light blue dress and two perfect braids that made him think of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz that his grandmother made him watch once. (He refused to sit through the encore the following week.)

The girl didn't look interested in the fight. She almost looked bored.

He thought maybe it was time to stir things up a bit if only to entertain her.

He was from Chicago and if there was one thing they knew how to do right, it was how to fight like a boss.

It was a poorly executed plan, though. He didn't expect Alcide, the resident bully, to have a whole pack backing him up. He didn't even see the right hook that made a big gash under his chin. Two burly teenagers named Tray and Calvin had both his arms before he could reciprocate with a punch. He was caught off guard.

But what shocked him even more was the basketball that flew in front of him and hit Alcide hard on the face when he motioned to give Eric another uppercut.

"Ow! Sook! What's that for?" Alcide exclaimed at the girl with the Dorothy braids.

She walked up to them and took her ball back. "That's for bein' a primate," she deadpanned. She turned to the two guys who were grabbing Eric and shot them an unhinging glare. "Is this how you welcome a newbie?" They let him go at once, sending Eric bending on his knees.

Without another word she walked back to her two-story home that was five houses away from Eric's.

There had been a couple more brawls against Alcide and his pack before Eric had redeemed himself from that humiliating first fight.

Eric came home that night with a shiner and a bloody chin. But nothing hurt more than his bruised ego.

* * *

**E/S**

If he flexed his fingers on his right, he would be able tell where he plucked the shards of glass that punctured the skin on his knuckles.

It was from the worst night of his life. That was, ironically, one of the best of his father's.

He couldn't accept it. Not when Godric broke the news to him that he would remarry after more than a decade of being a widower. It wasn't because he had a huge mommy issue. Oh, god, no. He was too fucking old for that. He would have been ecstatic for his father if he weren't marrying Michelle Stackhouse.

Why the hell did it have to be Mrs. Stackhouse?

It could have been Maxine Fortenberry, who could make a mean batch of casseroles, from two blocks away. Or the younger and saucier Portia Bellefleur - their real estate agent, who seemed torn between the two Northmans.

No. It had to be the mother of the only girl he loved.

"We're family now, Eric," Godric said when he rested his elbows on top of the bar, where his 19-year-old son had been lounging the entire night.

"No." Eric shook his head, slamming back the rest of his stiff drink. "I didn't marry into this family. You did. They're _not_ my family."

"Goddamit, Eric!" Godric whisper-yelled, but Eric was far too drunk and too mad to give a damn.

He would find someone else, they said. It wasn't love, they said. What the fuck did they know?

He caught her gaze from across the room. She was looking at him with the same sad eyes. But she was more understanding than him. She was more forgiving.

Not him, though. He wouldn't make it easy for any of them. Not even for her.

He dragged his feet to the backdoor. He was in no mood to pretend to be happy for anyone. He could hear the clicking of her heels behind him. He knew he was a lost cause if he could tell it was her by the mere sound of her footsteps.

"Eric!" he heard her call him when he shoved the double glass doors. "Where're you going?"

He didn't say anything. He just kept on moving. She was running now but her short legs weren't fast enough compared to his long strides.

"Eric!" she yelled again.

Then he heard her muffled gasp. Gone was the click-clacking of her heels. There was only the faint noise from the music inside the ballroom.

He turned around and saw her slumping on the ground, rubbing her ankle. His anger faded into concern and he was on her side in an instant. "What happened?"

Her hand flew and tapped the side of his head with a sharp whack that caught him unaware. "You're so predictable! Do I need to play damsel in distress to get you to stop?"

He gaped at her for a moment. From the gleam of the lamppost he could tell she had been crying. Her nose was shiny and ruddy and her thick lashes were spiky and wet.

This wasn't over, he thought gravely. Not by a long shot. His palm cupped her jaw, forcing her to look up before his mouth dragged over hers. She gasped and the opportunist in him took that time to pierce her mouth with his tongue.

Slanting his head, he deepened the kiss. He was certain she could taste the bitterness of the alcohol in his mouth because he could sure taste the peaches she had for dessert. It had been too long since he had tasted the peaches she loved so much from her tongue.

This was right, he chanted silently. He didn't care if legally they were related. This felt fucking right.

Then he felt the push. It wasn't hard at first. Like a gentle pinch. Then it became insistent. The push turned into shove.

Her hand clapped over her lips as soon as their mouths parted. Without another word, she pulled herself up and ran back to the reception hall.

He wanted to follow her but he couldn't. It was like someone had rammed a fist through his chest and he couldn't breathe. She had given up on him.

It was a miracle he didn't hit anything with his sports car that night when he drove back to his loft. Flipping the switch on, the bright light from the fluorescent flooded his modest bachelor pad his grandmother Lilith had given him for his 18th birthday.

The walls were blank. He didn't care for interior design. There was only one picture he had with him and it wasn't hanging on the wall for everyone to see. It wasn't meant for anyone. Only for him. He went to straight to his bedside table and opened the bottom drawer. Plucking the photo frame that was as big as a mobile tablet then stared at it. With closer inspection one could discern the smudges over the glass from the countless times he brushed his fingers across it.

It was taken during their first trip to New York. She wanted to go to the Empire State building. He thought it was a woeful cliché only tourists should do. But he indulged her whim anyway. She said she would be Meg Ryan and he would be Tom Hanks. It was perfect, she stressed, since they were both from Seattle and the movie she wanted to re-enact was called Sleepless In Seattle. He cringed and pretended to be annoyed to retain just a little bit of his dignity.

She was a sucker for chick flicks and he was a sucker for her.

She was so excited that she shamelessly walked up to an old woman and asked her to take a photo of them. She was standing on her tiptoes when she threw her arm around his neck to pull him down so she could press her lips to his cheek.

He wasn't one for public displays of affection. But she was. And he was glad she was.

His fingers grazed the side of her face through the thin glass before they balled into a fist and slammed against the photo frame, crushing the glass.

The horrible truth about that scar was that Eric would later find out that it wasn't from the worst night of his life because there would be more godawful nights after that.

* * *

**E/S**

He tapped the cast wrapped around his arm. He didn't know if it would leave another mark. Scar or not he knew he wouldn't be able to forget the day he found out she had broken their pact.

He hadn't heard from her for nearly three months. It wasn't like he had heard anything directly from her at all since she left Seattle to go to New York three years ago. But every once in while she would send him trivial things like a basketball signed by Michael Jordan - the greatest player alive – or a New York Yankees baseball cap or Phil Jackson's _More Than A Game_ book with an autograph from the legendary coach himself.

He didn't like any of them. He knew how she got them or who obtained them for her. It was through Bill's efforts since Compton was working as a sportswriter for the New York Post. But he kept them anyway. If only as reminders that she was thinking of him too.

He scrolled through his list of contacts until he found Bill's number under F for _Fucktarded Weasel_. It wasn't personal he just couldn't think of any name appropriate for the scumbag who slithered his way into her life. And _Scumbag_ was too polite a word.

She wasn't on his contacts list anymore. He had erased her two years ago after she intentionally dropped all of his calls. It was futile, of course, because by then he already knew it by heart.

The bastard let him wait for four rings before he picked up. "Hello, Eric?"

"Bill," was Eric's curt greeting. He took a deep breath before he spoke again. "Hey, how've you been?" Like he gave a fuck.

"I'm good. I mean, _we're_ good," Bill replied, his tone tightly guarded.

"Didn't see you at the courtside last game." Eric kept the conversation light. He wasn't a Knicks fan but he taped some of their games after that one time he caught her watching a Chicago-New York match at the Madison Square Garden. He even guffawed when she accidentally cheered for the Bulls when she was sitting at the Knicks' side.

There was a strained pause on the other line.

"Uhm… I was on leave for three weeks," Bill started. "I was… uh… we went to Vermont."

Vermont? Eric felt his blood chill. _'Don't say it. Please, don't you dare say it.'_

"Sookie and I got married two weeks ago."

There was a crash as his phone hit the black-and-white checkered tiles of his bar when he loosened his grip on it. He didn't bother to pick it up before he grabbed his leather jacket off the counter and dashed out of his pub. Why would he bother with pleasantries if she didn't even have the decency to give him a call to tell him she was marrying someone else?

Fuck them. Fuck _her_.

She was always the runner. A fucking escape artist. She told him she was leaving Seattle through a voicemail. She refused to meet with him when he followed her in Manhattan that same week. It was for the best, she said through another voicemail. Maybe he should check his voicemail just to make sure she didn't leave another half-assed goodbye.

It wasn't his intention to get drunk that night. He owned a bar for fuck's sake. If he wanted libation all he had to do was flick his finger. He only needed some air. But when he passed by her old house where Pam and her partner had moved in, he was instantly swarmed with all things Sookie. All rational thoughts were thrown in the gutter.

He took Barkley out of his father's garage. He kept his motorcycle in his father's house because Sookie begged him never to use it again after he almost took a nosedive into a bridge when a drunk driver tried to cut him from the side.

He would break his promise that night. She broke hers, why shouldn't he?

It wasn't his finest moment when he stopped by a liquor store to grab a bottle vodka. He was celebrating _their_ union with her favorite drink. Even though he wasn't included in the 'their' part.

He managed to drive two more blocks before he decided to test which was tougher, the Douglas Fir or his Barkley.

Again, it wasn't one of his shining moments. But he was a little drunk and overly bitter.

Turned out in a battle between tree and bike, the rider was always the loser.

Before he lost consciousness all he could think of was maybe if he were lucky she would come home for his funeral.

* * *

**E/S**

The middle-aged doctor who was almost half his size patted his good arm as she finished up checking his vitals. She gave him a clean bill of health before she flashed him the stink eye and waved a finger at him.

"The next time you have a fight with your girlfriend, go to a strip club or better yet, just dump her," Dr. Ludwig chided in a whisper to make sure Nora wouldn't hear them. "You're quite a heartthrob, kid, there'd be plenty more for you. If you want I'll give you the number of my niece." The pint-sized doctor smiled and winked before she left.

He sighed. If Dr. Ludwig only knew how many tricks in the book he tried just to get over her.

"Are you ready to go?" Nora chirped as she sauntered to the side of his bed.

He trained his eyes at the narrow passageway leading to the door where Sookie was standing meekly. She was trying so hard to look preoccupied by reading the hospital hygiene guide that was plastered on the wall.

"I've taken a couple of days off work so I can take care of you. You know… help you take a bath or…" Nora let her words hang in the air as she waited for Eric's approval.

They had been dating on and off for six months and she still didn't have a key to his apartment. Or a toothbrush in his bathroom. She wasn't even allowed to sleep over in his place.

He saw Sookie steal a glimpse in his direction when she heard Nora. But when she caught him staring at her she lowered her gaze to the floor immediately.

"Are you staying at Pam's?" he asked Sookie, pointedly ignoring Nora's mumbling.

Sookie slowly lifted her eyes back to him before she shook her head. "I told Pam she could turn our old room into a nursery while they wait for the adoption agency to approve their application."

He knew that wasn't the reason she wasn't staying at the old Stackhouse residence. It was because it was located near the Northman's house.

She had been in Seattle for two days and she had yet to pay a visit to her mother. She was avoiding them like the plague. Especially, Lilith.

"Where are you staying?" he asked again, making Nora feel like an intruder.

Sookie swallowed before she took a couple of steps toward him. "I'm staying at the Sheraton until the renovation is done in the new place. The movers will be here next week and there are still so much work to be -"

"Stay at my place," he blurted, cutting her off. Nora's jaw slackened as she folded her arms over her chest and stared at him indignantly.

"Eric," Nora started in a sweet syrupy voice, "there's no more room in the apartment. Do you want your _sister_ to sleep on the couch?" The enunciation of the word sister was hard to miss.

Sookie forced a chuckle. "Do you really think I'd fall for that?" Another hollow laugh. "I know what you're doing, the only reason you want me to stay in your place is so you can have me for your slave to cook and clean for you."

No one bought it. But it was still a nice try.

"Be careful with this one, Nora. He's a spoiled little rich boy," Sookie continued with her act as she turned to Nora.

The tightening of his jaw was as obvious as his glare. "Nora, can you check downstairs if the car is ready?" he asked the brunette without sparing her a glance. When Nora didn't move, Eric was forced to direct his attention to her as he added, "_Please_?"

Eric Northman would never get a medal for his bedside manners. So when he used the word please, Nora knew it was as good as a _'get the fuck out of here'._

Nora left with a harrumph that Eric decided to let slide.

"Why are you here, Sookie?" he asked as he stood to his full height so he could hover over her.

She raised her chin. "I told you, we're moving back to Seattle," she replied nonchalantly.

"Why now?"

She dropped her eyes again as she racked her brain for answers.

He seized her elbow with his good hand and forced her to look up.

"Is it because you're married now? Is that it? So you can appease Lilith? So you can prove that there's nothing between us anymore?" he hissed.

She refrained from blinking as she met his hateful gaze. "I'm tired, Eric. I'm tired of running away. I'm tired of running from you."

* * *

**A/N: I don't own True Blood.**

**Thank you for the wonderful and overwhelming feedback! Wow, this was better than I expected. Thank you so much! **

**Love, love!**


	3. Chapter 3

Sookie Stackhouse was fascinated with trivial facts.

It was her quirk. She had a treasure chest brimming with icebreakers. One time there was a blackout in their village and Pam, who was only eight then while Sookie was nine, started to have asthma attack. Sookie tried to calm her down with, "Hey, Pammie, did you know that Thomas Edison, the man who invented light bulbs, was also afraid of the dark?"

That didn't help because Pam was not interested in history. "How 'bout this?" she tried one more time, running her hands up and down her sister's back. "Did you know that Seattle lies in the Pacific Ring of Fire? Which means we're most likely to die from an earthquake than from a visit by the boogeyman? Besides the boogeyman lives in Scotland, thousands of miles away from First Hill."

"Shut it, Sook. It's not working. You're only making it worse," Pam blurted, giving her the snarky glare.

But it did work. Pam was no longer afraid. Her fear was replaced by her annoyance of her sibling's stupid did-you-knows.

However, not everyone was sick of listening to her ramblings about anything and nothing at all. She had a devoted fan in Eric. He would sit quietly as she tried to amaze him with all her fun facts and whatnots.

It started one summer day when she saw him in the back of Jackson's garage, which was owned by Alcide's family, hunching over the hood of a convertible.

She had a way of sneaking up on people with her innate stealth. She could see Alcide, Tray, Calvin and the newest member of the wolf pack, Eric, who was the undeclared alpha of the group, flipping pages of glossy magazines, mumbling a string of curses under their breath.

'_Ah, the horny boys and their secret stash.'_

"Whatcha got there?" she chimed in as she leaned forward enough to smell the scent of Eric's sandalwood soap through his shirt.

"Fuck!" Eric exclaimed, jumping back, hiding the magazine behind him.

They all had their glossy periodicals hidden as they gawped at Sookie who couldn't help but smirk triumphantly.

"Ooh Playboy…" she cooed. "Did you know that Hugh Hefner, the publisher of Playboy, was born in Chicago?"

Eric's eyebrows shot up to his forehead. "Of course! I'm from Chicago, toots."

It was her turn to cock her brow. "Toots? How old are you, 50?"

A collective snicker rang from the group, which earned each one of them a glare from their leader.

"They're not mine, Sook. They're Eric's," Alcide butted in, who was apparently more terrified of her than of Eric.

Mr. Chicago shot him a look. "Way to be cool, dumbass."

Sookie laughed as she flipped the end of her one-sided braid over her shoulder. "Go back to your porn, toots. I'll get outta your hair."

Spinning on her heel she started walking away from the brat pack. But as she strolled out of the garage she heard Eric spat another, "fuck!" to himself.

"You shouldn't swear so much," she called out to him, twisting her body to face the ruddy-cheek boy with the short blonde hair. "Do you even know where that word came from?"

Tray, the boy with the buzz cut and small eyes, went instantly giddy as he had what they called 'Tray's flashes of brilliance'. "Ooh, ooh, I know that one!" he said excitedly. "It's short for Fornicating Under Consent of the King." He flashed everyone a toothy grin for knowing something they probably didn't.

"Nope," Sookie replied quickly, popping her lips together. "It's from the poem _Flen Flyss_, which was written in the 15th century. It was actually derived from the word _fuccant_ which literally means 'they fuck.'"

Eric studied her with curious eyes. She tried to hold his gaze but she couldn't. His blue eyes were like the black hole, sucking her in. After a few seconds she turned around again and started jogging out of the garage.

"Alcide!" she called out before she turned to the corner that led to the main road. "Your dad's looking for you. Should I tell him you're back here jerking off with your toots?"

Tray, Calvin and Eric broke into laughter. But it was Eric who laughed the loudest.

* * *

**E/S**

Sookie Stackhouse's first kiss wasn't Eric or Bill or even her first boyfriend, Alcide.

It was Dawn Green.

She was on her way to return her books in the library when she saw Dawn the Queen Bee, surrounded by her flock of bottle-blonde bimbos in their favorite spot - the small gazebo right in the middle of the yard. From the corner of her eye she spied Eric and his minions – Alcide, Tray and Calvin – hanging out at one of the wooden picnic tables a few feet from Dawn.

Sookie suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Eric, the bad boy from Chicago, was dating the meanest and sluttiest girl in school. How emblematic.

She sighed. Why couldn't he look past the perky breasts and the nice rack? Why couldn't he look at her?

Deciding not to torture herself further, she picked up her speed to get out of their way. Her steps halted when she heard a familiar voice yelling profanities in the middle of Dawn's circle of whores.

_Pam_.

Sookie dashed to Dawn's side and saw a livid Pam in defensive stance, blocking the soft-spoken Miriam behind her.

"What's going on here?" Sookie asked loudly as she neared the gazebo, drawing Dawn's attention.

Dawn sniggered mischievously when she spotted Sookie. She fiddled with the strap of her sling bag and glowered at the newcomer. "Oh look, Sookie the genius is here," she crooned in her saccharine voice. "Hey, I have a trivia for you. Did you know that your sister is gay?"

It appeared that Dawn and her groupie caught Pam and Miriam making out in the locker room earlier after gym class.

"What's the matter, Dawn? Are you upset that I snubbed you? I'm sorry if my being choosy offended you," Pam snarked while Miriam kept sobbing quietly.

Dawn cackled. "Oh, please. I don't go for freaks."

Oh, hell no. No one called a Stackhouse a freak. Pam stabbed her hand in the air aiming directly at Dawn's poreless face when she felt a strong shove from her side.

It was Sookie. She pushed Pam out of the way before she fisted her hand in Dawn's thick black hair and pulled her in for a kiss.

It was an open-mouthed liplock that lasted for at least four seconds before Sookie let go of Dawn's hair and pushed her back with a jerk of her elbow.

Sookie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ignoring the synchronized gasps that followed her bold move.

"Then I guess you're a freak, too?" Sookie spat at the gaping Dawn. "Because I definitely felt some tongue action there."

Without another word, she twisted around and darted to where Eric and his pack were. From the sight of their jaws on the ground it was safe to say they had seen the short girl-on-girl action she had initiated.

She went straight to Eric, who slid off the picnic table to meet her halfway. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down until the tips of their noses were grazing. His tongue darted out, moistening his dry lips in anticipation for the inevitable. Then just as their mouths clasp together, her lips started moving.

"I feel sorry for you. Your girlfriend's a lousy kisser. You could do so much better." With that she released his shirt and ran to school gate followed closely by Pam, Miriam and Tara.

She swore she saw disappointment on his face as he slouch and mutter his favorite cuss word.

* * *

**E/S**

Sookie Stackhouse wasn't a crier.

She barely wept when her father died when she was three. Corbett was a small-time architect in Lousiana. He was in the middle of his daily rounds to make sure the foundation in each level of the condominium they were building in Shreveport were following all the safety regulations when one of the cables of the industrial lift he was in snapped, sending him plummeting to the ground from 18 floors up. Michelle said that when Corbett was pulled out of the wreckage his first words were, "The lift needs to be replaced."

The only time she shed tears for her father was when she saw her mother weeping in the corner of her parent's bedroom when she was putting her father's clothes in a box. Tears were contagious, Sookie deduced.

She kept her stoic façade when her grandmother Adele kicked the bucket when she was 15. She was under strict orders from her paternal grandmother never to weep for her or she would haunt Sookie in her sleep. She didn't believe in ghosts but she loved her Gran so much she didn't want to disappoint her. She cried a little with Pam the night they buried their Gran beside her husband Earl's tomb in Bon Temps. Silently, of course, she didn't want anyone to think she was weak. Pam, on the other hand, was afraid their grandmother would make good on her threat to pay her a nocturnal visit.

Sookie Stackhouse wasn't a crier. However, lately, that was all she had been doing. She did it when she traded the space needle for the statue of liberty. She did it again when she saw Eric waiting for her at the front steps of her apartment building. And again the morning after she slept with Bill two years after she left home.

When she was younger, Eric was the only one who could make her stop crying. He would tease her how she looked like Dolly Parton in drag every time she wept. If that failed he would start belting out 'Jolene' mimicking the southern singer's shaky lilting tone. And because he had such a hideous voice she had no choice but to stop sobbing to make him stop singing.

She wondered if he could still work his magic on her. She doubted, though, considering he was the one who turned her into a sobbing mess.

* * *

**E/S**

Sookie Stackhouse was a notorious prude.

The first time Eric had seen her naked was by accident. She had been dating Alcide for almost two months when Eric walked in on her just as she hoisted herself up inside the tub.

She was wrapping a towel around her head when the door to the bathroom flew open. She didn't get to utter a word of protest when none other than her smug friend dashed in fumbling for his fly.

"Dammit! Eric! Don't you knock!?" she exclaimed before she lowered herself back into the tub.

But it was too late. He had already seen every curve of her nakedness, accentuated with dripping water.

He remained locked in place, his zipper halfway down.

"What're you doing here!?" Sookie asked in a shrilly voice when he refused to balk.

He took his hands off his jeans before he grabbed the pink fluffy robe hanging by the side of the foggy wall mirror. "Your sister let me in. I needed to pee and she didn't tell me you were here."

She groaned. Pam had forgotten to point him to the guest bathroom at the other end of the hallway since it was a rule in their house never to lock the bathroom door when taking showers or baths. It was after their mother had taken a nasty fall when she slipped on the wet tiles on her way out of the tub. Sookie, who was barely six years old, had to run to their next-door neighbor for help to get inside the bathroom and rescue her mother.

"You're still here," she stated sharply, darting her eyes to the ceiling to avoid his gaze.

Based on recent study, a normal person would take seventeen seconds to react to an awkward situation. It had been more than seventeen seconds and Eric was still in a small enclosed space with her.

His lips slowly tugged at the corner. "You didn't ask me to leave and I still need to pee."

_Cocky jerk_.

"We may be friends, Eric. But we're not that close if you think I'd let you take a leak in front of me."

"Then don't look," he countered, taking a step toward the porcelain bowl with his hand back on his fly. "Or you can step off the tub and leave. Be my guest."

"Have you no shame?" she snapped, sinking lower to hide under the diminishing suds. "This is my house. And I'm your friend's girlfriend!"

"Meh…" he hummed. "Alcide and I weren't that close."

She let out an exasperated grunt. "Get out!"

His smirk broke into a wide grin before he pivoted to face the door and extended his hand to her, giving her the robe that he draped over his arm.

She stretched out a little to yank the robe from him. She heard him chuckle as he swaggered out of the door and closed it behind him.

After that unnerving incident they did what most people do in situations like those: _They pretended it never happened_. Or at least she did. Since then, every time she was in close proximity with Eric she would catch him looking at her wearing his lecherous smirk.

But as the days passed by his arrogant sneer morphed into something more. Something unsettling. Yearning perhaps?

Sometimes even Alcide would notice and he would give Eric a sharp glare to remind him it was rude to ogle his girlfriend.

The day Sookie and Alcide broke up when his family moved to Washington, he told her that as much as he was bothered by Eric's lingering eyes. What troubled him the most was the way _she_ looked at Eric.

"I get it, you two were this tight." He hooked his middle finger with his index finger. "But sometimes when I'm with both of you, I feel like I'm the third wheel."

* * *

**E/S**

It had been a week since she was back in Seattle and Bill was still a no-show. He was having difficulty getting their deposit back for their apartment in lower Manhattan from their landlord. And the movers were set to arrive tomorrow.

With her resources dwindling to an incredibly fast rate, Sookie decided to move out of the hotel and move in the bungalow-style house she bought with Bill before they went to Vermont to get hitched.

Her pocket money had been substantially depleted after she paid the constructors half of their fee to expedite the renovation so they could move in earlier than planned. They weren't supposed to be in Seattle for at least another month. But Eric wasn't supposed to crash his motorcycle against a tree either.

As much as she hated to stay in a house that was still under repair, she couldn't afford to spring for another night in a hotel. She met Pam that morning when she checked out of the Sheraton and asked her to lend her some clothes since they were almost the same size. (Pam was five inches taller) And some bedsheets and pillows. Her sister insisted she stayed with her and Miriam in their old house but Sookie was still adamant to keep at least a five-mile distance from her mother and Godric.

So she was stuck in her barely inhabitable house with no hot water and questionable electrical wiring.

The round light bulb on the ceiling flickered for the last time before it finally burned out.

'_Dammit!' _

Fortunately, she was already done with her shower. Fumbling for the steel rod at the wall, she slowly stepped out of the bathtub.

Thankfully, the bathroom door was ajar and the light from the hallway was seeping through the narrow crack. She cursed loudly when she realized she had forgotten to bring a towel with her. It was still on top of the bed in the next room across the hallway, which meant she would be leaving a trail of water on her newly-installed teak wooden floor.

Irritated and flushed she decided to make a quick dash to the bedroom. Tearing the door wide open she didn't realize she was no longer alone as she found herself face to face with a six-foot-four blonde with a short-arm cast.

"Eric," she breathed out.

Like the first time he had seen her in all her naked glory, he just stood quietly like a statue, unblinking.

"I heard you yell. I thought you slipped or something…" his voice trailed off as his eyes started moving up and down her body. Then a soft involuntary rumble erupted from his chest before he licked his lips. "I guess some things never change."

She could feel her cheeks burn. "Can you not look?" she gritted, tightening her grip on the spine of the door.

His lips curled and formed a lopsided smirk. "I've seen you naked so many times I can draw a map of all your tickle spots with my eyes closed."

She released the door and tried to push past him but he was so big and her door was so narrow. Oh, lord, she couldn't even begin to imagine the things he would come up with if he had heard her thoughts.

He inched closer, blocking her path.

'_This is bad,'_ she thought when he dipped his head and locked his eyes on her lips. _'This is so bad.'_

* * *

**A/N: I don't own TB.**

**If I offended anyone, my apologies. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read and generously sending me feedback!**


	4. Chapter 4

Eric lost his virginity when he was fifteen.

The day Sookie Stackhouse kissed Dawn Green was the same day he popped his cherry.

He could still feel Sookie's breath on his cheek when she pulled his face down only to tell him he could do some much better. _Yes_, he almost bobbed his head. _I deserve you_, he almost whispered. But before he could utter a single word she was already halfway across the yard.

He was motioning to follow Sookie when Dawn, the girl he had been seeing for a few tedious weeks, stomped in front of him with a scowl.

"What the fuck was that?" she spat, hands on her hips.

"What?" he asked innocently although he knew exactly what it was: _He almost kissed Sookie Stackhouse_, and the disappointment on his face was unmistakeable.

Dawn snapped her lips shut. That single action drew his eyes to her mouth. Her full lips were smeared with her blood-red lip gloss. He gulped hard, recalling how Sookie crushed her lips to Dawn's. He wondered if he would be able to taste Sookie in the brunette's mouth. He decided he wasn't going to waste another second wondering as he seized her elbow and clashed his lips with hers. He could hear hoots and snickers behind him but he couldn't bring himself to care.

It wasn't the first time he had made out with Dawn but it was the first time he truly enjoyed doing it. It might be because it didn't feel like he was kissing the hot brunette with the flaming red lips. If he closed his eyes he could imagine she was the feisty blonde with the brain of an encyclopedia.

Dawn was so impressed with Eric's aggressiveness that it earned him an invitation to her room that night. Since Dawn was living with her aunt, who owned a popular watering hole in the Metro, he knew what Dawn's invite actually meant: _He was about to get laid_.

He was interested with Sookie, sure. But he wasn't about to turn Dawn down. He was a teenager with a raging libido and Dawn was more than willing to cater to his needs.

He had watched enough porn to know the basics but because he didn't want to let anyone know that he was as green as fresh weed, he upped his game by holding off his orgasm until the foxy brunette was a boneless mess on her creaky bed.

He went home before midnight to avoid running into Dawn's aunt. He was exhausted but extremely sated at the same time that he must have been whistling like a goof when he strode back to his house.

He was still riding the high of his first time when two metal tins banged together like a clap of thunder, startling him. Swiveling to where the sound came from he caught a silhouette of a girl in an oversized black Bart Simpson t-shirt and white string pajamas. He didn't need to squint to know who that was. He could almost hear her voice again. _You could do so much better_.

She looked away first and he cursed his stupid pubescent hormones for missing one very crucial detail: _Sookie Stackhouse lived right across Dawn Green_.

* * *

**E/S **

She tried to cover most of her breasts with one arm while she stretched the other in front of him to put some distance between them. He didn't budge as he kept eyeing her in the way that was making her uncomfortable. He took a step forward. She took a step backward. He never stopped until her back was flat against the cold tiles of her bathroom.

"Eric," she warned.

How many times had she used those two syllables to unhinge him? Too many times to count.

He knew that even with one functioning arm he could take her right there in the bathroom floor. And from the lack of conviction in her voice, he knew she would let him.

The back of his hand grazed her cheek and her muscles in her throat tightened as her eyes fluttered as if on reflex. He didn't need to be a genius to detect her inner struggle. But he didn't need a PhD either to discern that right now he was winning.

He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted his head to the side to sweep his lips over hers.

Then they both froze as his phone began vibrating in his pocket. She shoved him hard at the chest, reacting from the sudden tremor pressing against her stomach.

'_Fuck!'_

He could see it on her face. Reality was kicking in and she was sobering up.

He took a small tentative step forward as he decided to ignore the caller. He wanted to salvage what little chance he had left but she was already halfway across the bathroom as she bolted out of the tiny space.

Cursing under his breath he yanked his phone out and checked who the intrusive caller was. He should have known it could only be one person.

_Nora_.

* * *

**E/S**

"How did you get in?" she asked as she marched downstairs, wearing one of Pam's casual A-line white dresses, to find Eric surveying the empty living room.

The house was furnished with second-hand fixtures the previous owners had left, which included a stovetop oven, a two-door fridge, a small round dining table with two matching high-back chairs, an old, springy sofa and a king size mattress.

Eric turned to her in his usual black jeans, dark gray plain t-shirts and black boots. "I like what you've done with the place. But don't you think you're taking this minimalist fad a little too far?"

She gave him a weak smile. "The movers are taking longer than I would have hoped," she replied as she raked her damp hair with her fingers. "You didn't answer my question."

He plopped himself on the couch before he patted the space beside him, coaxing her to sit next to him. She turned down the offer as she leaned on the wall that separated the living room to the kitchen.

"Pam gave me the spare key," he answered with a shrug. "She couldn't make it tonight. The adoption agency's going to pay them a visit tomorrow to check if they're the kind of lesbians they were looking for. As usual, Miriam is having a panic attack."

She couldn't help but chortle. Pam and Miriam had been waiting for over a year for a child. She could only imagine how excited the couple were.

"Thank you," she muttered softly. "For bringing the stuff over."

He tilted his head to the side. "That's it? Thank you?" He raised his injured arm slightly. "Do you know how hard it is to haul that much luggage with one arm?"

She cocked her head sideway. "What do you want?"

"Coffee," he replied immediately. "I saw a Starbucks not far from here. We can walk."

She turned pensive as she deliberated her options. When their discussion in the hospital was cut short by Nora's return, she knew their inevitable talk was far from over. She bobbed her head in agreement. It was bound to happen anyway.

And when it came to dealing with Eric she had learned it was best to be surrounded with as many people as possible. God knows what could happen behind closed doors or concealed alleys.

* * *

**E/S**

The first time he kissed Sookie Stackhouse was courtesy of JFK.

He had been successful in dodging Sookie's judgemental eyes while he kept dating Dawn, which only lasted for a few more weeks before he decided to break up with the bosomy brunette for good. Luckily for him, spring break was only a month away. He was sent to Los Angeles during the holiday to spend some quality time with Lilith, his paternal grandmother. He used the days off school to gather his thoughts and summon enough strength to formally ask Sookie out.

However, when he returned to Seattle, she was already spoken for. It appeared that while he was praying to the dating deities, so was Alcide. Guess whose prayer was answered.

With his plan foiled, he decided that the best course of action was to at least rebuild their friendship that had been tarnished when he started listening to his dick and fucked the girl who called Pam a freak.

Slowly but surely they started hanging out again. His effort was rewarded when he caught a sneak peek of what she had to offer when he accidentally walked in on her while she was taking a bath. Oh, what a marvelous day that was. The sky was bluer, the birds chirped louder… oh, and he had seen Sookie naked.

It was common knowledge that he was a Class-A jerk. But what most people didn't know was that he also had a soft spot. And that soft spot was named Sookie Stackhouse.

It was the fall of 2000 when he finally caught a break. Alcide Herveaux had been living in DC for more than four months. He was privy to the fact that before Alcide moved out of Seattle, he and Sookie had decided to call it quits. How could he not know, he was the one who told Alcide that long-distance relationship never _ever_ worked.

"One of you will get lonely and by one, I mean you. Then you'll get horny and you'll eventually cheat on her. D'you really think she'll be able to forgive you after that?" he told Alcide matter-of-factly. He must have been the fucking Nostradamus because that was exactly what happened when Sookie moved to Manhattan.

Four months, Eric mused, he had paid the toll for Sookie's joke of a relationship for four long months. He would no longer be tagged as a rebound if he went after her now. For weeks he had been mapping out strategies on how to ask her out.

It had to be monumental.

He even stopped dating Isabel, the exchange student from Spain, who had the most sensual accent especially when she was saying his name with her rolling Rs. And her wicked belly-button ring she loved flaunting every chance she had was part of her allure. She was the distraction he needed.

But the days of vacuous diversion had to come to an end. He only had to lure Sookie out of her shell. The opportunity presented itself when his father went to California, the weekend before his 17th birthday to visit his mother. What would a teenager do with an empty house and a hidden agenda? It wasn't physics.

He threw a keg party.

The only flaw in his plan was Sookie herself. She never liked a crowd. While he was busy being the life of the party, she was occupied making herself invisible. Disaster struck when Rene Lenier started decorating his father's den with his dinner.

Dragging him by his shirt collar, he kicked the inebriated Rene out of the house and into the street with a growled out threat. He was on his way back into the party when he heard someone clicking her tongue mockingly.

His steps halted and cocked his head to the narrow alley beside the garage that separated his house from the Merlottes. She stepped out of the dark corner like an apparition, a lit cigarette between her fingers.

"You know what they say, it's never a party until someone throws up," Sookie quipped before she dropped the cigarette on the ground beside the trash bins and extinguished it with the heel of her gray sneakers.

"I didn't know you smoke," he asked with an arched eyebrow.

She shrugged. "It's my first stick. Part of a social experiment." She thrust her hand in the pocket of her purple hoodie, retrieving a piece of fruit. At first he thought it was an apple until she took a big bite out of it. "Peach?" she mumbled, holding the fruit like an offering.

He swaggered toward her before he reached for the peach. He twisted it around until he found the side where she had taken a bite then raised it to his lips. He repressed the urge to smirk when he saw her swallow gently as she watched him devour her peach.

"Thought you left," he said offhandedly before he chomped another mouthful.

"Pam's still inside. I can't go home without her." She kept eyeing him before she seized the peach out of his hand. "Who said you can have all of it?"

He chuckled as he took a half-step closer. "Have you spoken to Alcide lately?" he asked, trying to look impassive.

She pressed her lips together then scrunched her nose. "Last week. He's doing well in DC but he's getting homesick. He said he'll try to visit after graduation."

Well, that was horrible. Alcide should stay where he was.

"How 'bout you?" She nudged the side of his arm with her elbow. "I haven't seen Isabel in a while."

"It didn't work. Half the time I can't understand a word she's saying."

She giggled. It was a breathy sound that was surprisingly pleasant unlike the common shrilly tittering of girls her age. "Don't look so upset. I'm sure you'll find another ass to tap."

His eyes grew wide, feigning indignation. "I'll have you know I didn't date Isabel for her nice ass."

"Yet you find time to compliment her backside."

He huffed, shaking his head.

"Oh, c'mon! I'm sure you like women with substance," she kept teasing, moving in front of him, slapping his chest with the back of her hand.

He remained silent.

"Will you stop brooding? It doesn't look good on you. Besides, you're Eric Northman. No girl can resist your smolder and smirk."

Her words stirred something wicked in him as his eyes lit up and a sly, lazy smile broke across his face. With languid steps, he sauntered toward her, invading the space between them.

"What're you doing?" she asked, knotting her brows, bafflement coloring her features. The redbrick wall halted her retreat and she tried to shove him back.

"I'm testing your theory." His gaze darted from her eyes to her lips.

"Stop fucking around, Eric."

The blunt word sent him reeling for a moment. He had never heard her use the F-word as an expression before and he decided it sounded fiercer coming from her.

"Is it working, Sookie?" he drawled, leaning closer, pressing both palms against the wall to keep her in place. "Do you find me irresistible now?" He waggled his brows and it elicited a favourable response when she bit her lower lip.

"Eric!" She shoved at his chest again. But like the previous time, it was lacking force.

He was wrong about Isabel. Her rolling Rs were nothing compared to Sookie's crisp Cs.

When he refused to shift, she twisted her hips to get away from him only to freeze when she felt his hardness brush against her hips making her cheeks flare.

That reaction spurred him on as he dipped lower. "Kiss me," he rasped.

"What!?"

"One kiss and I'll stop."

"Fuck off, Northman. I'm immune to your charms."

Her denial was his confirmation. It always started with denial.

"Then there shouldn't be a problem," he cooed, lowering his head. "Think of it as one of your social experiments."

"You're a jerk."

"You're deferring."

She tightened her stare, her throat constricting as she swallowed repeatedly. Seconds later, she jutted her chin out and challenged him to, "Quote a president."

His brows furrowed and his smirk disappeared. "Huh?"

"You want to dazzle me. Give me a quote from one US president. Don't even try to make up one, you know I know my presidents," she dared him. Eric was aware of her strange POTUS obsession. She, on the other hand, had no clue about his strange Sookie fixation.

His wily grin returned before he cleared his throat exaggeratedly, "_I am never through with a woman unless I've had her three ways_.'"

She gaped at him. _Check. And. Mate._

"Sonofabitch. John F. Kennedy," she hushed in disbelief. Shaking her head, a smile spread across her face, revealing a shallow dimple on her cheek. "Leave it to you to quote a notorious womanizer."

He slanted his head to plant a chaste kiss on her chin. "What can I say? I'm a democrat," he quipped before he sealed her lips with his.

* * *

**E/S**

"Thought you hated gold?"

She didn't need to look up to see that he was studying the thick amber-colored wedding band around her finger. She set the disposable coffee cup back down and slid her hands under the table.

"Bill picked the rings."

He grabbed his own cup and took a sip to disguise the tightening of his jaw. "For someone who plans weddings for a living, you sure suck at planning yours."

They had managed to evade the hard issues by addressing the lighter ones during their short trip to the coffee shop just outside Maple Leaf. They talked about Pam and Miriam, his bar and Sookie's job applications.

But as they sat across each other in one of the round metal tables at the sidewalk they both knew it was time to grab the white elephant by its tusks.

"I didn't really plan it," she replied, twisting the gold band in her finger with her thumb.

His face instantly darkened. "Did he force you?"

"No!" she spat. "It wasn't like that. He didn't force me. It was - " she struggled for words. "Can we not talk about it?"

He took an audible breath as charged silence choked him. For a long time none of them spoke. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Talking to her shouldn't be this hard. He trained his eyes on her, urging her to look up. If she were going to torture him the least she could do was look him square in the eyes.

Finally she lifted her chin and met his glare. "Where's Nora?" she asked, her tone hitching as she forced it to sound relaxed. "I thought she'll be taking care of you."

He almost sneered at the thinly-veiled bitterness in her tone.

"She's at work," was his curt reply as he studied her like only he could.

"Oh. What does she do?"

He had no doubt she already knew the answer.

"She's a chef."

Sookie nodded to herself, cradling her cup in both hands. "You always had a thing for women who can cook."

"_You_ can't," he countered quickly, drilling her with his eyes. "You can't even fry an egg." The underlying hostility in his tone was becoming more prominent.

She managed to hold his gaze for a second before she turned away and squirmed in her seat. He wanted her to squirm. Hell, he wanted her to be as uncomfortable as possible. He wanted her to break and fall. He wanted her to hurt.

But truth be told, he only wanted her.

After a few heartbeats, she looked up again. He shouldn't be surprised. She was always the resilient one.

"There you go, mystery's solved," she chirped in a throaty voice as though she was strangling a sob. "Nowwe know why we didn't work out."

He straightened up and leaned back on his chair. "You're still full of bullshit, Stackhouse," he drawled. "Or should I call you, Mrs. Compton?" The muscles around his jaw leaped and coiled at the tension. Gathering his composure, he forced himself to leer. "Tell me, Sookie does he fuck better than he write? Because I've read some of his work and I couldn't move past the first sentence."

Sookie had learned a long time ago that Eric had no filter when he was furious. More so when he was hurt. For a wounded Eric had no soul.

"Don't do this, Eric," she pleaded.

He responded with a cold sneer. "That's a no, then?"

"Will you please stop!?" she gritted. The hardness in her tone darkened his features. He loathed the way she was protecting Bill.

"Do you love him?" His voice dropped to a dangerous low. He had to hold on to the cold edge of the table to keep his hand from shaking.

"He's my husband." She kept her gaze steady.

"Do you love him?" His lips barely moved as he repeated the question.

"He loves me." She looked down at her own hands as she started thumbing the gold band on her finger. To remind herself of the man she had given her word to.

The couple from the next table was starting to sneak glances at them. They could go fly a kite, he thought grimly.

"Answer the fucking question, Sookie," he spat.

It would have been so easy to lie. She didn't even need to say the words. She only needed to move her head up and down he would have his answer. But this was Eric. He would know. He would be able to spot the telltale of a lie.

She swallowed hard as she raised her eyes to him. "He's not you."

His eyes shifted subtly, searching her face for the anatomy of the bullshit. He couldn't find any. He must have been losing his mind because for a fleeting second he wished she was. Because it would be so much easier to despise her if she was. His grip loosened around the metal frame of the table before he stood up from his iron-wrought chair as calmly as his erratic nerves would allow. Without warning he seized her arm and tugged at it gently.

He wondered if his grip was too tight because she didn't offer any resistance.

Like reading an old forgotten book they relived that one Autumn night in 2000 when he pushed her up against the wall of a shadowed corner of the coffee shop and claimed her lips. He didn't ask for permission this time. He didn't need one. She was his. She had always been his.

He slid his palm across the length of her arm until he found her ring and slipped it off her finger effortlessly. It wasn't even her size.

Fucking, useless Bill.

He chucked it in his pocket without her noticing. She didn't like gold. She found it tacky and tasteless. Bill should have known that.

But then again, Bill was not Eric.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric.**

**Thank you for those who have taken the time to read and review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Bill Compton knew sometimes a great story wasn't the noisiest one - the one everyone was talking about.

Most times it started with a whisper.

He didn't think so before because he had no patience to lurk and wait for that hushed rumbling. It was a grave misuse of his time.

Patience was one virtue he truly lacked. He didn't like it when his editor took longer going over his article. He was a senior reporter for christ's sake, his copy should be sent straight to proofreading and layout, ready for printing.

He hated it when players and coaches were taking so long get out of their dugouts for the post-game interviews. Sons of gods, they thought of themselves when in fact they were nothing but spawns of bitches making Bill's life a little more miserable every minute they kept him waiting.

He didn't like being put in the wringer for anything. Until he met her.

Sookie.

As a reporter, he had a knack for spotting beefy news. He knew where to find a good lead and a different angle. He had a way to get all the necessary details to weave a story into a seamless latticework of words.

That was how she caught his eye.

The newest addition to the Northman clan, who was gliding down the grand staircase of the hotel ballroom like a true aristocrat.

She was in the most elegant yellow gown of tulle and lace that made her sparkle with every blinding step she took. Her golden hair in a loose chignon, wispy strands trying to break free. He was certain those come-hither strands framing her heart-shaped face were part of her guise, just like the timid smile she granted everyone looking up at her as she made her entrance. Her eyes swept the room, darting from one face to the next, sparing the guests a fleeting glance. She bobbed her head ever so gently, almost imperceptibly, when she was introduced as though she was entitled to a greeting or even a curtsy.

She was every bit a Northman.

Only that she wasn't. Not really.

And for that alone Bill disliked her at once.

William "Bill" Compton wasn't born into money like most of his friends who lived in Bel Air. Those were old money. The Compton's dollars were greener, newer. Nouveau riche was the term their supercilious neighbors used when they gossip about the Comptons behind their backs.

But he didn't mind. It could be worse. He could be poor.

For as long as he could remember, he only had one genuine friend in the west. Someone who wasn't as stuck up as most of the boys in his age group. It was Eric Northman, the only grandson of the elite socialite Lilith Catarina Northman, the heiress of the packaging empire from Sweden.

Eric, who was two years his junior, was the blue-eyed boy with the golden hair and the megawatt smile who could make every girl swoon. Even the sophisticated women, who prided themselves for their prudence and refinement surrounding his grandmother, were smitten with Mr. Boy Wonder.

Eric was his grandmother's source of pride. Every year, Lilith would throw lavish parties for his grandson's visits. The parties were constant hit with Eric's peers, including Bill. It seemed money was a potent social lubricant no matter how young or old you were. The juvenile gatherings morphed into decadent galas and the gifts were modified from limited edition race car toys to actual luxury vehicles that Eric very rarely used.

Bill never missed an event thrown in the honor of the golden boy even after the Comptons moved out of Bel Air to live in a less prestigious neighborhood in Pasadena.

William Compton Sr., who made a fortune in managing hedge funds, was forced into retirement after he succumbed to early dementia. Bill's mother, Cecilia, decided to settle into a retirement house with her husband in Dallas for people with early-stage dementia and Alzheimer's, leaving Bill alone in California.

Bill, unlike his father, had no patience for numbers. He took Journalism in UCLA and worked in the Los Angeles Daily Times as correspondent for a year before he got promoted to regular contributor.

Once word got out that the Comptons were no longer part of the glitterati, Bill's friends started to avoid him like a leper with syphilis.

Except for Eric.

Eric might be immature and egocentric at times but he knew how to keep himself grounded. He valued loyalty and friendship. It was probably because his father, Godric, never raised him with such hubris.

The festivities in the Northman's palatial manor halted abruptly for two years when Eric hit a rebellious phase and went on a two-year expedition across the Atlantic. For reasons unbeknownst to Bill, Eric cut everyone off including Lilith after his father remarried.

So when Bill received the all too familiar ivory stationery with an embossed _N_, he knew that his bastard of a friend had returned and the drought was over.

It came as a surprise to him when he found out that the celebration wasn't for Eric. It was for Lilith's adopted granddaughter Susanna, Godric's stepdaughter, who would be turning 18.

Now, as Bill watched Susanna command the crowd, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy toward her. It wasn't her fault, just like it wasn't Eric's fault that Bill found them lacking.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone but it was hard to be this close to a Northman without wishing ill for them. Envy, it seemed, was Bill's favorite sin.

Susanna was every bit the princess she was deemed to be as she made small talk with the people she had never met before. She was a revelation with her quick wit and stately gestures. However, Bill was harder to impress. There was something terribly wrong with the picture she was trying to paint.

It was too perfect.

He knew somewhere behind her ethereal persona there was a secret she was trying to obscure.

Whatever it was, he would soon find out. He waltzed to her side and asked her for a dance. Like the dutiful hostess, she accepted the invitation with charm that Bill had seen on Lilith many times in the past. That must be it, Bill thought, she was nothing but Lilith's marionette.

Susanna was beautiful from a distance but as he held her close – close enough to smell her delicate scent and see the amber specks around her pupils – Bill realized she was otherworldly.

They were in the middle of their dance when he suddenly felt her grow rigid in his arms. He expertly twirled her around so he could look over her shoulder to find the source of her unease.

He should have known.

"He sure knows how to make an entrance," Bill murmured sardonically as he zeroed in on the six-foot-four blonde in black pants, moss green v-neck and motorcycle leather jacket. "He must not have gotten the memo that it's a black-tie event," he jested, while watching his arrogant friend swagger from the double white carved wooden doors toward the presidential table where his family was seated.

There it was again, that sharp pinch of jealousy.

"He got it. He's just making a point," Susanna answered crisply, without sparing Eric and his pretty redhead arm candy a glance.

Bill recognized Eric's escort as Sophie Anne Leclerq, the petite print ad model who was also donning the same outfit as the golden boy.

Eric, hands in his pockets with his patented lopsided smirk, paused beside Lilith and gave the silver-haired matriarch a chaste kiss on the cheek while blatantly ignoring his father and his new stepmother.

With a hand at the small of Sophie Anne's back, he nudged his date forward to stand in front of his grandmother for scrutinizing purposes. Lilith, with flawless poise, gave Sophie Anne a half-smile while her eyes picked the redhead apart.

Bill almost snorted. The Northmans certainly knew how to turn awkward situations into a ridiculous charade. Eric lifted his head and twisted slightly to scan the phalanx of appropriately dressed guests. His eyes found Bill and Susanna on the dance floor and if Bill weren't watching Eric closely he would have missed the coiling of muscles around his jaw.

"Your brother's giving us the look," Bill whispered as he pressed his palm firmly on the debutante's back to dictate their slow tempo.

"He's not my brother," she hissed uncharacteristically as she seemed to have forgotten the role she was playing. She sighed audibly before she drew away from Bill. "This is lovely, Bill. But do you mind if I excuse myself? I'm not used to wearing heels and my feet are killing me." Her polished smile was back on.

"Of course," he said with a courteous nod before he ushered her back to her seat.

The debutante never danced again. She stayed beside Lilith, thanking the guests who paused and greeted her. After a while, she moved to a corner table, one that would hide her from Lilith's prying gaze. Bill decided he wanted to get to know Susanna more as he pulled up a chair next to her and offered to join her in her misery.

"I'm not miserable," she tried to deny. "I just want to get drunk and I don't want my mom to watch me while I do it."

"Fine. Then I'll be providing libation for the birthday girl." Bill turned on the charm. And he was rewarded with a feeble smile.

By the time they finished their Dom Perignon she became less brooding and more pleasant toward Bill. A few male guests tried to flirt with her but she wasn't inebriated enough to indulge them. Their glasses clinked as they talked about Bill's childhood in LA and she would fall silent every time he would mention Eric.

Bill could sense a story brewing. He just needed to follow the lead.

They ordered another bottle of the expensive bubbly and downed it like water. Two bottles seemed to have done the trick as she started to loosen up. She would charmingly throw her head back and laugh at Bill, who would do impressions of Jack Nicholson and Al Pacino.

There seemed to be a divine drunkenness in her one could only read on Fitzgerald's books. And Bill found himself intoxicated in her rather than the spirits he was imbibing.

Bill was taken aback when Eric paused at their table and introduced Sophie Anne midway through their third Perignon. Bill, ever the gentleman, planted a kiss on the redhead's alabaster hand, while Susanna only bobbed her head in recognition.

The story Bill detected earlier was writing by itself. He could smell jealousy from miles away. He was familiar with the scent since he wore it all the time.

Eric murmured something to Sophie Anne and the beautiful redhead nodded and walked away. With his palm flat against the table, Eric lowered his head to Susanna as he wedged himself between Bill and the debutante.

"I think you've had enough," Bill heard Eric whisper-hiss.

"Not quite. I can still understand your mumbling," was her verbal bullet.

"You're embarrassing yourself," Eric snarled and Bill swore he saw goosebumps prickle her outstretched arm when Eric's lips grazed her earlobe.

"Oh don't worry, big bro. I think you've provided enough entertainment for our guests for tonight with your dramatic entrance," she quipped while tapping the lid of her empty flute with her manicured finger. Bill quickly obliged as he reached for the bottle inside the ice bucket and circled the table to pick up her empty glass.

"What did you call me?" Eric growled, inching closer to her.

From his place behind Susanna, Bill spied a single vein throb on Eric's forehead and even in Bill's intoxicated state he could still feel his blood chilling at the sight.

"Now, now, let's not get carried away here," Bill interjected, turning his head in the direction of Sophie Anne, who was back by the bar with her dirty martini. With a sharp nod he called her back to help him diffuse the growing tension between the Northmans. Sophie Anne sauntered back to Eric's side, hooked an arm around his and pulled him away while Bill topped up Susanna's flute.

With a final glare at Susanna, Eric pivoted and let Sophie Anne whisk him away back to the liquor counter.

Bill heaved a deep sigh. That almost escalated to a full-on screamfest. He wanted an exclusive story, not a breaking news that everyone could hear about. He waited for her to calm down. She didn't take another sip of her drink after that so Bill thought, in a way, Eric still won.

Their conversation resumed and he was amazed at how easily she regained her composure. Every now and again Bill would throw a glimpse in Eric's direction and he would see his friend glowering at them. In another time that kind of stabbing look would have made him cower and shrivel, but not tonight. Tonight he would have what Eric would never have in this lifetime.

An hour later, Susanna stood up and excused herself from Bill as she made her way out of the ballroom. He knew where she was going, the question was would Eric follow her?

With a discreet sideway glance, Eric trailed her with his eyes. Not a minute later, Bill saw Eric stealthily walk out of the reception hall and into the cedar gazebo where Bill was certain Susanna would be.

The rustic pavilion was the centerpiece of the garden behind the hotel's dance hall. It was also the perfect rendezvous point for someone with a secret as big the Northman stepsiblings.

Bill crept behind one of the animal topiaries near the dimly-lit pavilion where he could have a front-row seat in the showdown between the lovers who could never be a couple.

"I didn't know you're back from your trip," Bill heard her greet Eric. "So nice of you to join us." _Sarcasm, what a delicious tone_, Bill mused.

"I'm here to support the family," was Eric's equally icy response. "Isn't that what you want?"

There was brief pause and Bill could see her hands grip the wooden railing tightly with her back to Eric.

"Sophie Anne? Really, Eric? Can you go any lower?"

"What's wrong with Sophie? She's hot. She's nice. She laughs at my jokes. And she's not pretending to be my sister." Eric leaned against one of the wooden columns of the gazebo, hooking his leg up at the railing. _Smug bastard_, Bill thought.

She huffed. "Y'know, if you don't want to be called brother then stop acting like one," she bit out.

Eric's cool façade crumbled almost immediately as he turned to her. "Call me brother again, Sookie, or so help me god I will -"

"What?" she challenged, twisting to the side to face him. "You'd treat me like I don't exist? You'd go and date all my friends?"

"Is this what this is? Is this why you're flirting with Bill?" _Ouch_, _that hurt_, Bill mused dryly.

"Oh, nonono! You cannot go high and mighty on me, Eric." She raised her finger and waved it back and forth. "Not after you've paraded all those women in front of me. Sophie Anne, Maudette, Jessica. Even Tara! _Tara_, god, that was a low blow. You know she's my best friend but that didn't stop you from going after her."

Eric was lost for words. Susanna turned away and grasped the railing for support again. Her shoulders were heaving and Bill wasn't sure if she were crying or just shaking from rage.

"Will you ever stop hating me, Eric?" she asked softly after a while.

With her back to Eric, she didn't see how Eric's hand vacillated behind her, as though he wanted to touch her but knew for a fact that he couldn't.

After a while, Eric seemed to have decided to end his misery as he made his slow retreat and stepped off the landing and onto the stone steps. Without looking back at her, Bill heard Eric mutter, "I'll stop hating you when you stop being a hypocrite." He paused, his shoulder sagging. "Enjoy your party. It's one of the perks of being a Northman."

Bill pressed himself closer to the manicured bush when Eric passed him by. The sound of Eric's boots grinding against the gravel on top of the stepping stones faded followed by the barely discernible thunk of the glass door swinging in and out.

Bill peeked at Susanna. She was still visibly shaken and he gave her a few minutes to collect herself before he stepped out of his hiding place. His foot got caught between a loose vine crawling around one of the decorative trellis causing him to half-stumble toward the pavilion.

"Bill!" she exclaimed, stepping backward.

"Susanna." He bowed like a gentleman should in times of utter mortification.

He saw her wipe the corner of her eye with the pad of her middle finger.

He swayed to her, steadying his wobbly footing. "I heard everything," he started solemnly and quickly doubted his move when her eyes narrowed into angry slits in an instant. He raised his palms up to her in surrender. "Your secret's safe with me."

Her lips thinned. She was no longer the 'hostess with the mostest'. "Do you think I'd give a damn if you tell anyone?" She slid forward, the hem of her yellow gown gliding across the teak floor. "It's our family's worst-kept secret, Bill."

"Everyone knows?" Bill inquired with an arched brow. "Even Lilith?"

She sucked in a sharp breath. It was as easy as setting a mouse trap, Bill thought, thoroughly pleased with himself. Sooner or later the mouse would fall for the cheese.

"You're in love with him," he stated confidently. And when she didn't deny it he went straight for the jugular. "You can't love him, Susanna. He's your brother, whether you like it or not."

"You don't think I know that?" she gritted, clutching the intricately embroidered side of her dress.

"Just don't let yourself forget. Because when you do and it blows up, guess which Northman will be tossed away covered in shit? I'll give you a clue. It rhymes with Susanna." That was Bill's parthian shot before he left her alone that night.

What Bill didn't tell her was in all the years he had known Eric that was the first time he had seen him care so much about anyone it was almost a shame. It was the first time Eric wasn't stupidly, contemptibly happy.

And Bill liked it.

* * *

**E/S**

Her visits to California had turned into a tradition. One that Bill always looked forward to.

Susanna, or Sookie as Bill later called her, along with her sibling, Pam, would go to Los Angeles every summer to spend the holiday with Lilith. Eric never made an appearance, though. He had surrendered his grandchild duties to Sookie and Pam as he jetted off to Morocco or Tuscany or Santorini or sometimes when he wanted to keep it local, Las Vegas, to spend his vacation.

As far as Bill knew, the distance between Eric and Sookie only grew wider. While Eric was earning his MBA in Wharton, Sookie stayed close to home when she went to Washington State University for her BA in History. Lilith had been very vocal with her dislike regarding Sookie's course. It was very limiting, she stressed, but Godric was always willing to back Sookie up.

How could Godric not support his stepdaughter? It was Sookie's consolation prize for giving up Eric.

Bill had taken it upon himself to be Sookie's tour guide whenever she was in California. It didn't take long before he started to discern what Eric had seen in her. Her physical attributes were a given. It was her personality that struck him the most.

She was fiercely opinionated. One time there was a mentally-challenged caddie, who kept handing the wrong club to Stan Davis - Bill's editor from the Daily News – when they were out golfing in the country club. On the seventh hole, Stan had had it with the incompetent staff and started lashing out at the poor caddie. All of them including Bill could only watch in uncomfortable silence as Stan belittled the boy. It was Sookie, Bill's company for the social event, who stepped in and defended the caddie. It almost cost Bill his job but when Stan found out that she was a Northman, the seasoned editor eventually backed off.

Sookie and Bill got into a terrible fight because of that. She didn't want to use her name for anything. And Bill swore never to make the same mistake again. He knew all too well why she despised being a Northman.

She was loyal. To Pam. To her mother. Even to Godric and Lilith. But most especially to Eric. Bill had hinted on many occasions how much he liked her but Sookie would dismiss his feelings as sheer infatuation. Bill would think next year would be different. However, three years went by and she still kept him at arm's length. Bill was starting to doubt if he ever stood a chance of replacing Eric. He wanted to slap some sense into her. Make her realize that while she was pining for Eric, the bastard had already moved on.

Of course, Bill kept track of Eric's social life or, more accurately, sex life. He knew the slew of women Eric had when he was off to wherever hell he was while Sookie kept eluding the dating scene.

But it wasn't as though Bill had taken a vow of celibacy for her. Hell, no. If Eric could have his share of whores, why would Bill be any different? Actually, he _was_ different from Eric because Bill would not do his whoring in plain sight. Eric might have no chance with Sookie anymore, but Bill still had strong shot.

It was the spring of 2010 when Bill saw his opening. Lilith was going to throw the party of the decade for her 70th birthday. And all the members of her family would be present. Including the elusive golden boy.

That was the Hail Mary shot Bill was gearing up for. His gameplan was pretty straightforward.

Eric would predictably bring another trophy girlfriend to give Sookie the middle finger and hopefully she would finally see what a lowlife Eric had become. Bill would gallantly swoop in to console her and the rest would be history.

Simple yet so brilliant.

The appointed evening came. Bill was dashing in his tuxedo, suited up for the battle ahead. However, as the hours flew by with no sign of Eric nor Sookie, he started to get nervous. What if they were meeting up somewhere?

The cold finger on his spine warmed up when Eric showed up, late as usual, but dreadfully alone. Damn it, he was also wearing a tux. Probably one that cost a whole lot more than his.

Bill sprinted to catch up with Eric at his usual spot by the bar. He almost shuddered from Eric's murderous glare when he asked him if he had seen Sookie.

"Do I look like her sitter, Bill? Aren't you her boyfriend?"

Bill's eyes widened. That was why Eric was so cold. He thought they were together. Fantastic.

"Forget I asked," Bill said offhandedly, waving his hand in the air. He had a feeling Sookie was somewhere within the vicinity.

He marched out of the ballroom with purposeful strides on the way to the garden behind the hall.

Jackpot. There she was, right there at gazebo, where he found her three years ago, sitting at one of the black rattan patio chairs overlooking the vast lawn.

"I knew I'd find you here," Bill said as he sauntered casually in her direction.

"I need some air," was her succinct response, while keeping her gaze fixed on the trellis that surrounded the gazebo.

"Eric's here," Bill mumbled, taking the seat next to her.

She nodded. "I saw him come in."

"You can't keep avoiding each other."

"I'm not avoiding him. I'm just not sure I'm ready to face him yet."

Bill studied her closely. There were half moons under her eyes from the shadows of her thick lashes as she kept her eyes low.

"Sookie -"

"Did you know I have a garden in Seattle?" she cut him off. "Every spring I'd sit on our porch and watch my roses all day. I have the most beautiful roses." She took a deep breath as she retained her thousand-yard stare. "Pam would tell me to pick them up so I can bring them to my boarding house in Pullham. But I never did. I didn't want to. I just want to watch them grow because I know once I pick them they'd wilt and wither in a vase. And I don't want that. I want them to reach their peak. I want to miss them when I'm not home."

Her hand flew to wipe her glistening cheeks. "Sometimes I'd miss my roses so much I just pull over at the side of the road and turn the car around. Then I'd take a deep breath and remind myself 'They're still there, Sookie. They'll be waiting for you when you come back.'"

A strangled sob escaped her lips that Bill wondered if she were still talking about her silly flowers.

"But that's not true. Winter will come and the cold air will suck the life out of them. And they'd be gone. Replaced. Forgotten."

She shifted in her seat and her mobile phone slid off her lap. Bill bent to pick it up and saw what was on the screen. It was Eric's facebook page. She was scrolling through the images of Eric's last trip to Greece. The bastard was all smiles at the beach, in his white gauzy polo and khaki pants.

"I'm sick of missing him while he was so busy trying to forget me. I'm sick of watching his life through pictures and I'm sick of loving him while he was out there loving someone else." She buried her face in her palms. Bill peeled himself off his chair and moved behind her. His hands ran up and down her back, careful not to wrinkle her red halter top dress.

The sound of gravel grinding together jolted Bill and he wasn't entirely surprised when he found Eric standing a few steps from the cedar gazebo. Sookie slowly lifted her face from her hands to look at the newcomer and Bill felt her breath hitch at the sight.

"Can you leave us alone, Bill?" Eric said in a low voice.

Bill straightened his stance and jutted his chin defiantly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Eric."

Eric locked his gaze on Bill as he stepped on the teak landing. "I'm not asking for your opinion," he gritted, marching forward until he was only a foot away from Bill. "Leave us."

Bill dropped his gaze on Sookie, refusing to balk. Sookie patted his hand on her shoulder gently. "It's okay, Bill," she hushed.

Bill glowered at Eric one more time before he released his grip on her and walked out of the gazebo. He might have left the gazebo but he would be damned if he would leave her alone in the garden. When he was certain Eric wasn't watching him anymore, Bill ducked behind one of the thickly draped trellis. It was time for another lurking.

"Is it true? What you told Bill about me," Eric started glaring down at her as she swiped her cheeks carefully so as not to ruin her make-up.

"Does it matter?" she mumbled, refusing to meet Eric's scathing look.

Bill saw Eric go around the chair and clamp his hands on her arms to pull her up from the chair. "Will you stop deflecting!"

She didn't try to wriggle out of Eric's grip as she craned her neck to engage him in a staring match. "Did I make it easy on you, Eric? To forget me? To get over me?" she asked in a hushed tone that was almost inaudible to Bill.

Eric's hands fell limply. "Get over you?" Bill heard him ask incredulously. "Do you honestly think I'll ever get over you? _You_ bailed out on me when you let my dad adopt you. You could have fought for us but you're so concerned on being the obedient child."

"What would you have me do? Throw a fit like you? Get mad at her for loving a Northman when that was exactly what I was doing?"

"So you chose to break me instead."

Bill almost felt sorry for Eric but tried as he might he couldn't. Eric had everything laid out in front of him since birth. Bill learned early in life that not because he wanted something, he could have it. Eric should not be an exception.

Bill's self-indulgent musings screeched to a halt when she spoke again.

"What can I do so you can forgive me? You're so mad at me for so long that I don't know how to make it okay between us anymore," she whispered. Her shoulders quaked and Eric pulled her flush against him. She clutched the front of his white dress shirt and buried her face to his chest to silence her sobs.

Eric stroked her hair as he hugged her. If Bill had any decency, he would have left them right there and then.

But Bill had no rationale left. Not when he was this invested in Sookie.

Crouching behind thorny vines, Bill could feel the needles pricking the sole of his right foot. He shifted his weight to his left as he kept his eyes trained on the couple who weren't. The sight was needlessly melodramatic, Bill thought. He wondered how long he had to wait before Eric would pull away and leave her alone, just like the last time.

Bill's magnum opus was unfolding right before his eyes. The characters were so closely tied together they were almost drowning in their pitiful hopelessness. The plot so predictable Bill thought it was a waste of time. But the finale… yes, the final scene made the atrocious plot almost redeemable. Because Bill was certain he would be there when the velvet curtain dropped, wrapping the female protagonist in his arms.

He darted his eyes to his shoes to make sure he wouldn't get stuck in another stringy climber and stumble like the last time when he emerged like a Knight after Eric disappeared. No loose vine, check.

He raised his gaze back to the pavilion and stilled.

His brain froze in a scream as he watched Eric glide his treacherous hands across her bare back to her nape. She tilted her head to him and it took every ounce of Bill's self-control not to leap out of the bush and pull Sookie away from Eric. He didn't know who made the first move but the next thing Bill saw was Sookie flinging her arms around the bastard's neck as Eric fisted his hand in her hair.

Eric's free hand moved down her waist to pull her closer against him.

No. Bill shook his head, his fingers tightening around the squarish space of the trellis. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He saw Eric drew his head back and rested his forehead against hers. "Don't fight me anymore, Sookie," Bill heard him murmur in a fucking raspy voice of his.

_Say no, goddamit_, Bill pleaded. _Tell him you can't stand him_, Bill yelled mutely.

He held his breath when Sookie cradled Eric's face in her dainty hands and whispered, "I love you."

'_Liar!' _

Stupid, lying whore, he chanted to himself, willing himself to believe his own words. But he knew better. She wasn't lying. He was. He had been deluding himself that he could eclipse the golden boy with the damning smirk.

He forced himself to look away when Eric swept his lips over hers.

Bill slumped on the gravelly ground and he didn't give a damn if they heard the muffled noise he made. He doubted those fools would even hear a meteor crashing beside them.

The clacking of Sookie's heels and the thumping of Eric's leather shoes jarred him out of his stupor and he crawled backward when he saw the detestable pair scamper out of the gazebo. They didn't go through the entrance of the ballroom, though. Eric reached for the door at the other corner of the garden that would lead them to the parking lot.

Bill scrambled upward and fished for his own set of keys. He followed them as they make their way into Eric's flashy red corvette and zoomed far away from the hotel. He trailed closely behind them as they checked into a cheap Bed & Breakfast in South Pasadena.

Degenerates, Bill muttered under his breath before he twisted the wheel to drive back to Bel Air.

They would pay for their sins, Bill would make sure of that.

The party was almost done when he reached the reception hall. He fixed his eyes on the silver-haired old woman perched on top of her farcical throne.

That wasn't the conclusion Bill was aiming for. He would get his perfect ending even if he had to rewrite their tale. They were sorely mistaken if they thought this was a love story.

He reached the head table where Lilith was located, grand as always with her condescending gaze. She spared Bill a glance before her eyes roamed the massive room, probably searching for Eric and Sookie.

Bill thrust his chin up. He realized he hadn't given Lilith her present yet. What could be a more fitting gift than his opera magna? The one story that would bring Eric and Sookie on their knees.

That was how Bill started spinning his tale. It all started with a whisper.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric.**

**I know I left the last chapter hanging. But I felt the need to give Bill a voice before we get back to present day E/S. Again, this is delving into taboo territories. And if you find it offensive, sorry, feel free to hit the x on the tab. **

**Thank you for reading and leaving feedback. They blow me away!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is another flashback from EPOV. It's sort of a continuation of their first kiss beside the garage. If you notice I changed the rating from T to M, just to be safe. **

* * *

"Don't do it, man," Tray warned him as he leaned against the tree overlooking the library. The cold October air blew and he instantly regretted wearing only a black wifebeater under his leather jacket. He glanced at his diver's watch before he tucked his hands back in his pockets. It was almost noon and she was bound to walk out of the library to head to the cafeteria to meet Pam any second.

He shot Tray a silencing glare. _'Try and stop me, pothead.'_

Tray shook his head and moved in front of him, blocking his view. "She's Alcide's girl. We don't date our friend's girl. It's a code."

"She's not Alcide's. They've broken up months ago. And as for your stupid code, it doesn't apply to me," he snarled as he shoved Tray to the side.

He thought he had made great progress with his 'Get-Sookie-Stackhouse' scheme when he kissed her beside his garage more than a month ago. But when he stopped by her house the following day, she was nowhere to be found. It was Dawn who told him that they had left for Louisiana earlier that day. Something about a dead relative. Sookie's mother left a set of spare keys to Dawn's aunt before they left.

He tried to reach her through her cell but all his calls were diverted to voicemail.

For two weeks he waited for her to return. He would drive by her house twice every day, before he would go to school, and again after supper. On the fourteenth night the lights came back to the Stackhouse residence.

It was her mother, Michelle, who greeted him when he rang the doorbell that evening. She told him Sookie and Pam caught a bug while they were in Louisiana for their grandmother's funeral. That was why it took them longer to come home.

And that had been two weeks ago. Sookie returned to school with Pam after a three-week hiatus and now the Stackhouse siblings were cramming to catch up. Add to the mix that she was mourning from the death of her grandmother. Which meant Sookie didn't have time for anything else, namely Eric Northman.

But Eric was persistent. He managed to silence the prodding of his dick to get back together with Isabel. Not even Dawn's tempting cleavage could convince him otherwise as she cornered him one time when he was parked outside the Stackhouses during one of his late-night cruises.

Eric exhaled and a stream of frosty air puffed out of his parted lips. He checked his watch and let out a grunt. She was taking longer than he had anticipated. As he was pinching the bridge of his nose, he saw her, hugging four thick hardbound books, bounding out of the library steps. Tray tried to stop him with a hand on his arm but he easily shrugged it off and dashed to cross the road. He reached her just before she could make a right turn to the sidewalk leading to the canteen and she almost jumped when he materialized in front of her.

"Need help with that?" he asked, already reaching for her books.

She let out a cloud of cool air when she gasped. Her cheeks were flushed from the chill and it looked so delicious against her almost fading tan.

She gulped before she shook her head and tightened her hold on the books. "It's alright. Thank you." She lowered her gaze to the ground before she sidestepped him.

His brows furrowed as he pivoted to keep up with her. "Are you avoiding me?" _Fuck, when did he turn into a girl?_

She chuckled. "Of course not!"

Her response was too quick and too high-pitched to be true.

His lips thinned and his eyes became icy. "Okay, got it." He did get the message: She thought he was a mistake.

He turned away from her to dart back to the other side of the road. Suddenly the sidewalk was too narrow for both of them.

"Eric," she called out softly, tentatively.

It was loud enough to stop him from leaving.

"Do you like movies?"

It took all his restraints to keep himself from grinning. Schooling his face to remain blank, he cocked his one of his brows.

She cleared her throat. "There's a Sandra Bullock film showing at the AMC."

His lips tugged at the corner. "Are you asking me out?" _God, he was easy_.

"It's not a date. Just two friends watching a movie."

_Ah, every teenage boy's ultimate dream: Watch a stupid chick flick on a Friday night._

He nodded. "I'll pick you up at seven for our non-date then"

She smiled and he swore her eyes fucking sparkled. She ran toward the cafeteria and he went back to where his friends were.

Later he asked Tray and Calvin what Sandra Bullock movie was showing at the AMC. "Miss Congeniality," answered Tray with a snort.

_Sonofabitch_, he thought wildly, _what did I get myself into?_

* * *

**E/S**

He was ten minutes early and it was Pam who let him in. With a hand on her hip, she gave him a once over. He flashed his signature lopsided grin as he swaggered inside the house. She looked impressed with his carefully picked attire of black v-neck long sleeves, gray corduroy blazer and black jeans.

"Hmm… not bad. If I'm not gay I'd be all over you," she threw him a compliment, as she ushered him into the living room.

"Oh, stop. You're making me blush," was his flirty comeback. He had spent enough time with Pam for them to form an organic camaraderie.

She rolled her eyes before she marched upstairs to call her sister.

Michelle Stackhouse, an attractive woman in her early forties with the same medium length blonde hair and warm blue eyes as Sookie's, offered him a glass of lemonade when she strolled out of the kitchen in a red-checkered apron. She asked if he wanted to grab dinner first but he politely declined. The smell of the pot roast from the kitchen was very inviting but he was craving for something else that night. Something inedible but definitely more delectable.

He asked if he could use the restroom and Michelle gave him the green light to go upstairs. There were two bathrooms in the second floor, one led to the master's suite while the other was connected to Sookie and Pam's shared corner bedroom. He picked the one closest to Sookie, of course.

"You know you're hopeless, right?" he heard Pam as soon as he entered the bathroom and locked the door.

"This isn't a date, Pammie," was Sookie's exasperated response.

"Then why are you wearing a dress in a two-degree weather?" Pam quipped. "If that's not an invitation to be groped, I don't know what is."

_Groping?_ That he could do without any persuasion. He pressed his cheek against the birch louvered door, while he gripped the round golden knob.

"I know what I'm doing," Sookie replied. His grasp tightened around the knob, which was warming up against his fingers. _Why can't Pam just shut the hell up?_

"Do you really? Keep in mind, Sook, Eric Northman's sort of a national treasure around here. Treat him like he's one of your library books. The one you can't afford. You can only borrow it. Then you read it. You enjoy it - hell, you can even fantasize about it. Then you return it, so someone else can have fun with it. You don't hold on to it longer than its due date or you'll pay the fine."

He didn't know what to make of Pam's analogy of him. Should he be flattered or insulted?

When he didn't hear any retort from Sookie, he decided he'd had enough eavesdropping for the night.

He slipped out of the bathroom silently and went downstairs with light steps. He put on his mask of ennui when Sookie emerged in a simple navy blue long sleeves dress, black tights and knee-high dark brown boots. There was nothing grope-able about that outfit and he wondered if she had changed because of what Pam said.

Sookie wanted a non-date, then that was exactly what she would get.

Eric kept her within comfortable distance where he spent 90 minutes pretending to watch Sandra Bullock play a pitiable undercover agent who was infiltrating a beauty pageant. He even laughed on cue and casually wiped the tears off the corners of his eyes, which earned him an amused glance from Sookie. The tears were real, alright. He was tearing up from the sheer torture. He wanted to stab his leg with his keys to keep himself from dozing off from the film's oh-so-predictable climax.

It wasn't all bad, though. He would count the number of times she had thrown him sidelong glances at him only to look away when he caught her. Even in the dimmed theatre he could sense her getting flustered.

But there was also that one time when he almost lost control. Midway into the movie, she suddenly leaned in to him, her nose millimeters from his earlobe and whispered some trivia about Michael Caine. His hand slipped and accidentally dropped the bucket of popcorn on his lap. She covered her mouth to silence her giggles while helping him brush off stray popcorn that were wedged in the space between his pants.

Her hand grazed his upper thigh and it took everything he had in him not to groan. Snatching her wrist, he begged her to stop. Mercifully, she took the hint and turned her attention back to the movie.

They waited until after the credits finished rolling. She wasn't one for crowds, she explained, but he thought it was just an excuse. She turned to him when the theater was almost empty, armed with a sweet, apologetic smile. "You hated it," she stated meekly.

He shook his head in dismissal as he peeled himself from the red upholstered chair. She took a few seconds to follow him to the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her baffled expression. _Mission accomplished, Northman_, he congratulated himself.

If he wanted to make Sookie believe he wasn't a disposable manwhore then he needed to learn how to control his baser needs.

He brought her back home before midnight which earned him brownie points from her mother. He left her that night with only a courteous nod. Even when she leaned forward and tipped her head up, he didn't give in. He slid into his car and drove off without glancing back at her, leaving Sookie with the look that he sometimes get when he was nursing a pair of blue balls.

He was certain his efforts would pay off in the long run. If he were a fucking library book, then he would make Sookie Stackhouse want to check him out for good.

* * *

**E/S**

They had been on countless non-dates since then that they had managed to watch every single hideous rom-com in the theaters.

Eric kept the charade while Sookie pretended to be blissfully oblivious to his cravings.

It was a Friday and he knew her mother, who owned a small accessories boutique in Westlake Center downtown, would be working late because of the Christmas sale. They had another non-date set for the evening but nothing definite was planned.

She surprised him when she suggested to watch a DVD her mother got for her in their house.

He hesitated for a brief moment. It was easy to contain his urges when they were in a public place. Granted the movie houses were always dark and ideal for his wickedness but the thought of other people watching them make out was unacceptable. He was irrationally selfish when it came to her. Moments like those should only be for him. Not for an audience.

Her eyebrows drew together as she waited for his response. He grinned as he bobbed his head. He asked if he could bring anything for her or Pam. (In case her irritatingly, highly-opinionated sister would be there.) She answered with a shake of her head and a lazy smile at the side of her lips.

"Pam will be sleeping over at Miriam's," she yelled over her shoulder as she picked up her pace and left him in the hallway.

_Oh, shit_, Eric thought. Maybe it would be best to wear his tightest pair of pants tonight, for all intents and purposes.

* * *

**E/S**

It was another irredeemable film starring Drew Barrymore. Never Been Kissed was the title he caught when she showed him the plastic casing. He didn't need Drew Barrymore to tell him how it felt to have never been kissed. He squeezed himself at the corner of the lush chocolate brown sofa while Sookie crossed her legs as she scooched beside him. She was wearing one of her black oversized Simpson's shirts. It was the brainiac Lisa that time with a quote bubble above her head that said: _Ooh! A political discussion at our table. I feel like a Kennedy!_

"Kennedy, huh?" he asked pouting his lips to point at her shirt. It brought back some delightful memories when JFK helped him score his first kiss with her.

She didn't look down at her shirt as she grabbed a handful of microwave popcorn and raised it to her lips to cover her coy smile. "I'm a big fan of JFK," she mumbled, keeping her eyes straight on the TV.

Eric shifted his weight and crossed his legs. His chastity belt was fucking useless.

Halfway through the movie, she reached for the remote and hit the pause button before she slid off the couch to get a can of Coke. She tossed him a cold one, before she slumped next to him, much closer this time. She pulled her feet up and brought her knees to her chin. Without warning she bent toward him, resting her cheek to his shoulder.

Eric could hardly keep focus. He could no longer understand what Drew was babbling about because all he could think of was that Sookie's hair smelled of green apple. With a jerk of her foot against the sofa, she pushed herself upward so she could reach the crook of his neck while she unwittingly bit the tip of her bendy straw.

_Seriously? She wanted to snuggle?_ Her heady scent was already clouding his judgment and he knew one slight nudge would get him undone. He imagined himself being backed into a corner where he could no longer be cunning or sly. And it wasn't helping his cause.

Sliding gently he wiggled his shoulder and balled his hand into a fist before he lifted it to cover his mouth as he coughed.

"Um… What time will your mom be home?" he asked nonchalantly.

She tilted her head up to him. "The mall's having a midnight sale so she won't be home in a couple more hours. Why?" She eyed him suspiciously, picking him apart.

He swiveled his upper body to take a peek at the narrow corridor that separated the living room from the dining area. "Can I use the toilet?" The hardness in his pants badly needed reprieve.

She squinted her eyes as she skated away from him while putting her soda can on the center table in front of the sofa. "What's your game, Eric?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

His eyebrows shot up to his forehead feigning confusion. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, give it a rest," she shoved verbally. "We've been going out for almost two months now and you haven't tried to kiss me once. Not after that one time three months ago. And frankly I'm insulted."

His lips gaped as he tried to come up with an excuse but he was too shocked to be snide.

She raised a finger to silence him. "If you're not attracted to me then what the hell are we doing? You're obviously not gay. Even without Pam's gay-dar I can tell you like girls. So what's the deal? Is it me? Am I not pretty enough? Is it the way I kiss? Too sloppy? Too wet? Too much tongue?" Her nose scrunched as she glowered. "Or is it the way I dress? Do I have to dress like Dawn or Isabel? Y'know, show some flesh?"

She was being hyperverbal. Her mouth was running a million miles a minute.

"What do I have to do to make you want me?"

"Nothing!" he snapped, springing off the couch. "That's the problem, Sookie. I already want you. So much. So fucking much that I have to wear these stupid pants."

She swallowed heavily as she craned her neck to meet his gaze.

"I want everything about you. Why do you think I suffer those chick flicks you dragged me to watch?"

"Well, I'm sorry," she drawled mockingly, raising her hands over her head. "I thought you liked watching cute girls."

"I do like watching cute girls. One cute girl in particular," he concurred. "I like watching her eat popcorn with her mouth open. I also like it when she takes forever to drink her soda because she always bites the straw. I even find it refreshing that she always picks regular Coke because according to her Diet Coke lacks punch."

Her eyes darted to the red can across her that was leaving a ring of moisture on top of the plexiglass table with four cylindrical black metal braces. The white bendy straw had been flattened from all the nibbling she had done earlier.

"It really doesn't taste like the real one," she mumbled in agreement, dropping her gaze to her lap.

He flashed a toothy grin before he returned to the couch and lifted her chin with his thumb. "I know. And I like that about you."

He tipped lower as he stared deeply into her eyes. "I don't want to be a library book, Sookie. I want you to want to buy me."

Her lips parted slightly, stunned at the revelation. Eric didn't let her say anything else before he latched onto her mouth. His breath hitched at the sensation of her soft lips clashing furiously with his. She was clinging on to him and the urgency of her action was making him relentless.

He pushed her to lie down on the couch without breaking contact with her lips. He felt her palms slide inside his shirt as they graze the ripples of his stomach. He might not have Alcide's rock hard abs but he had enough muscles for a six-pack.

He hovered over her as their kiss tapered off. She whimpered when he began leaving a trail of moist kisses along her jawline all the way down to her neck. He fought the urge to suck on the flesh behind her ear. He wanted to leave a mark but he didn't want her to get in trouble with her mother. He reached under her shirt and unhooked her bra with his deft fingers. She arched her back as if to encourage him. Silly girl, did she really think he would need any persuasion at this point.

He cupped her breasts with both palms and she moaned when he flicked her nipples. Fuck that moan, he groaned, he would come before he could get out of his constricting pants.

As if she could read his thoughts she lowered her hands and began fumbling for the button of his jeans. With a gentle flick she unbuttoned it and the next thing he heard was the distinctive swoosh of his zip going down. She was undressing him like a pro and he bit back the nagging feeling that she had had enough practice with Alcide.

Pulling up her shirt, he latched on one of her peaks while one hand kept tracing circles around the other. Those moves earned him a sharp gasp of his name and he decided it was time to up the ante. His free hand slithered down, thumbing the waistband of her pajama bottom. She bit her lower lip in anticipation when he pushed her cotton boy shorts to the side.

He sucked in a breath when his finger grazed the moist flesh between her thighs. Fuck me, he screamed internally. Sookie might have the same notion when she grabbed the front of his shirt and clamped her legs against his thighs. In a swift move she rolled him to the side. With a hard tug, she pulled herself up and straddled him as he looked up at her. Even in an oversized, juvenile shirt she managed to blow him away.

_Damn it all to hell._

Eric stretched his neck so he could look at her closely. He hissed when she started rolling her hips on top of him, grinding her fully clothed mound against the straining bulge in his pants. He breathed through his mouth, reveling at the sensation. The friction was too much and -

_Fuck!_

The muscles around his calves tensed and tightened as warm sticky liquid seeped through his tight pants. He froze and so did she. He pinched his eyes shut before he bit his tongue. It was every man's nightmare. Second only to erectile dysfunction. He came in his fucking pants. Like a hopeless nerd. No. Like a hopeless virgin nerd.

"Shit, sorry," he grumbled in his croaky voice.

He grabbed her hips and lifted her off him.

"Eric…" she hushed, cheeks flushed. He wondered if his face was as red as hers. Probably worse.

"I-I need to go," he stuttered. That's it, asshole, keep the nerdy vibe going with your mumbling.

"You don't have to," she said somewhat hurriedly. It sounded like a plea and damn if it wasn't working.

He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. "I have to." He planted a quick peck on her forehead and bolted out of the sofa, stopping only to grab his leather jacket from the hook on the wall beside the door, and he was gone.

With long strides he left her house. He cast a sideway glance to her house to check if she were following him. Mercifully, she decided to leave him alone. He slowed down when he was two houses away from hers. Pausing at the side of the road, he slumped on the cemented pavement and buried his face in his palms, trying to rub the shame off his face. Her mother wouldn't be home and he would be a fool to leave Sookie unguarded in the middle of the night. Cringing from the sticky mess clinging to side of his thighs, he watched over her house until he saw her mother's minivan pull into the driveway less than two hours later.

He dragged his feet back to his house. This would be a funny anecdote he could tell their kids when they give them the sex talk.

_Wait, what?_

* * *

**E/S**

The snow started falling and it was bitingly cold outside. Or so he assumed, because he hadn't been outside for three days. Not after the unfortunate incident when he humiliated himself in front of her or more precisely, under her.

He faked illness when his father asked him if would be going to school that Monday morning. Godric, an investment analyst for J.P. Morgan, had been particularly busy for the holidays and the Monday before Christmas was the start of his hell week.

Godric frowned and shot his son a look that said _'Do I look dumb to you?'_

When Eric remained sullen, with no effort to move out of bed, Godric shrugged in defeat and left his son with a simple, "Just don't do anything stupid."

_Too late for that,_ Eric thought in dismay.

The steady humming of the vacuum machine downstairs roused him from his midday nap. Their housekeeper, Yolly, must have let herself in and was doing her usual chores. He would like to make himself something to eat but he didn't want to run into her so he kept himself busy with his computer until he was sure she was gone.

It was a little after four in the afternoon when he heard a soft rapping against his door. It must be Tray or Calvin, dropping by to know why he didn't show up for school. Those guys needed to get a life, badly.

Hopping off the bed, he peeled the door open. The caustic remark he was about to hurl was lodged in his throat when he saw who his visitor was.

"Hi." Sookie gave him a timid wave. "I brought your homework."

He glanced at the two maroon Mercer Island High textbooks she held against her chest. Without a word, he stepped aside to give her a wide berth. He followed her with his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

She was wearing dark skinny jeans, light gray long sleeves under her dark gray parka and yellow scarf. Her hair was in messy braid and her cheeks were tinged pink that he wondered if she ran on her way to his house.

He brushed past her and propped himself on the knee-high bookshelf beside his king size bed, while she remained a few feet from the door.

"So…" she hummed slowly, "this is the bat cave." Her eyes made a quick scan of the interior and he was glad he wasn't a slob she was probably assuming him to be.

"Why're you here?" he cut to the chase.

"I didn't see you in school today," she replied as though that explained everything.

"You're not from my class. We're not even the same year. And those aren't my books." As if he knew what his books looked like.

"Calvin said you were sick." She darted in front of him and touched his temple with the back of her hand. "You're as cold as a vampire," was her medical opinion.

"So what if I'm not?" He kept his impassive façade.

"You're avoiding me." It was a statement.

"I am." It was pointless to lie anyway. "So won't you be a darling and let me avoid you in peace?"

"If it's about the -" she cleared her throat, "- what happened the other night," she paused to take a breath. "It's not a big deal. I'm sure it happens to everyone."

His neck tightened. "I bet it never happened with Alcide."

She blinked and took half a step back. "Yeah, it never happened with him."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Wow. If you're trying to make me feel better, you're doing a fantastic job."

"It never happened with Alcide because we never got that far," she countered softly.

That rocked him out of his dismal state.

"Never?" he asked, eyeing her closely. "But isn't he your first boyfriend?"

"Yep." She bobbed her head while evading his gaze.

"So it means you're still a…"

"Damn straight."

"And you want me to be your…"

She thrust her chin up and met his piercing stare. "Eric," she sighed in exasperation, "I stalked you in your room, I guess it's pretty obvious what I want."

His mouth went dry. "Why?" The real question was, _'Why are you still talking, dickhead?'_

"Because I decided that I want to buy the book. I don't want anyone else borrowing it anymore."

He stood to his full height, a lazy smirk forming at the side of his lips. "My, my, Miss Stackhouse, aren't you greedy?"

"I am," she breathed out, tilting her head up. "So unless you're going to cowboy up and finish what you started, I'll have to ask you to turn around so I can walk out of here with a tiniest shred of dignity."

He darted forward, snaking his arm around her waist, and pulled her flush against him. "You're not going anywhere."

* * *

**A/N: I can't afford Eric so I'm just borrowing him for the time being. **

**This is fluff, yes. I want to feature a time when Eric and Sookie weren't so jaded and bitter. That there was a time when their problems were simple if not trivial. Drama-rama will resume in the next chapter. **

**I also posted this fic on my wordpress page. eys1214 . wordpress . com, in case you want to see what Eric's room looks like. **

**Thank you!**


	7. Chapter 7

His lips were burning. Fervent and aggressive. He was consuming her in a way no one else could.

Her mind swirled when she heard him growl as he nipped her lower lip. Her tongue clashed with his and he let out another low rumble when she arched forward, pressing against the hardness in his pants.

She gasped at the contact and she pushed him gently. Their lips parted in a way that made him grunt in annoyance. She sighed and the arm that was clamped on his shoulder went limp and fell to her side.

"We can't do this," she whispered, framing his face with both her hands. She felt the tightening of his jaw against her palms and he seemed like he wanted to punch the brick wall behind her.

Her heart broke a little more at the sight. It had been broken for a very long time.

She wished she could be the same girl in the red dress again. She wished she could be the selfish, wide-eyed girl who ran away with him on the night of Lilith's 70th birthday.

* * *

**E/S**

He swept her hair over her shoulder and tipped his head to the side as he ran the tip of his nose along her bare shoulder. She could feel his breath was warm against the skin on her nape.

Biting her lip she silenced her gasp when his arms slithered around her waist before he whisked her around to face him.

"I need to know that this is what you want," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

She couldn't breathe. His eyes flicked to her lips briefly, making her pulse race. Lying was part of her nature now. She had been a liar for more than five years that the fine line between the truth and what she had convinced herself to be true no longer existed.

"If you tell me to stop, I'll stop," he husked, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks.

Stop, such a simple word, she thought. She could say stop and everything would get back to normal or at least the normalcy she had been accustomed to for half a decade. She could be his sister. The sister he never wanted.

Her head barely shook as she whispered, "Don't stop."

"This is it," he said in a gravelly voice. There was finality in his tone that was daring her to say otherwise. She didn't negate him. She was done lying.

His mouth crashed into hers and a muffled moan escaped her lips. She helped him off his blazer before she wrestled with the buttons of his white dress shirt. Eric drew back, peeling his shirt off, before he reached behind her and tugged the red silk tie at the back of her neck that was keeping her halter dress in place. The soft cloth slid down without resistance and pooled on the floor. She stepped off the garment as she started backing away toward the bed.

Eric kicked his shoes off as he watched her lie on her back in her black lingerie. His eyes bore promises of unspoken devotion and pent-up desire.

Five years.

For five long years she yearned for him. Dreamed of the day he could love her again. She should have known that he never really stopped.

The room began to spin when he climbed on top of her and all her concerns faded into white noise. She couldn't hear anything else. It was like rediscovering a part of her body that she had no use of for a long time – a certain organ that could only beat for him.

* * *

**E/S**

"Leave him." Eric wasn't imploring. He wasn't one to beg. He would never beg for anything. "I'm not sharing you with him, Sookie."

She pressed her lips together into a taut line to stop her chin from quivering. "I can't." She could barely let the words out.

"Why the hell not?" If a look could kill, she would be dead by now.

She wished she could tell him the reason why she married Bill. Why she agreed to a loveless marriage? A deal she struck with Bill so she could come home.

"Because I promised him I'd try." That at least was true.

* * *

**E/S**

She had stopped eating croissants for three years.

The mere sight of its flaky crust could make her stomach churn and the smell of the melted cheese on top of it could ruin her appetite.

She used to love it before, though. She loved it so much it was the first thing she asked Eric when he opened his eyes to find her lying beside him, brushing stray hair from his forehead.

"So it wasn't a dream," he rasped before snaked his arm around her middle and pulled her closer for a quick peck on her lips.

"I'm hungry," she said with sultry pout. She knew Eric wouldn't be able to resist her pout.

He grinned, bending one arm under his pillow to prop his head up. "Want to go downstairs to eat? Do they serve all-day breakfast in a B and B?"

"I don't wanna go down in my cocktail dress. It's like the ultimate walk of shame."

He chuckled, running the tips of his fingers on the dip of her waist. "What do you want?"

"Croissants. Cheese croissants." She laid her head on his torso, her finger tracing invisible tails with his soft chest hair.

"Maybe they have croissants downstairs, I'll go check." He buried his nose in her hair, while his fingers weaved through the tips of her golden locks.

"Already did. I snuck downstairs and asked the innkeeper while you were sleeping. They didn't have one."

He scrunched his nose. "What kind of bed and breakfast doesn't have croissants?"

"This kind," she whined.

He chuckled. "Alright, princess. I'll go and get you one."

She smiled giddily and rolled off of him but he seized her with his long arm and tackled her before she could slide off the bed. "First things first," he quipped.

"You're too much!" she squealed, squirming under him.

"Hmm… all this wriggling is making me harder."

She stopped at once and Eric took it as his cue to grab her leg and drape it around his middle. His deft fingers found the flesh between her thighs and his eyes rolled at the back of his head when he discovered the slickness pooling between her folds.

Reaching for the foil packet on top of the bedside table he geared up for battle. It didn't take long for them to get into the rhythm and soon his pounding was in sync with her strangled moans. She licked his bobbing Adam's apple before she started placing wet kisses across his chest. His hips swayed slowly, relishing the feel of her lips on his skin. Then he began picking up speed and every forward thrust was making the old-fashioned bed rock and creak. The headboard started pounding against the wall but she was too far gone to care what the other guests would think.

She was shameless and so was he. They could go to a five-star hotel in the city but they didn't want to run into anyone who might recognize them so they picked the most secluded B&B in South Pasadena.

They were perverse. A couple of miscreants.

Eric dragged his tongue over her lower lip, teasing her to open her mouth. She dug her nails on his back when he kissed her and she could feel him smiling against her lips. After all these time he could still be so cocky.

When she felt the pressure building up, she clamped her other leg around his waist before she moaned his name as she came. Eric grunted at the tightness around him but he wasn't done. He rolled his hips gently to prolong her peak and when he couldn't hold it off any longer, he crushed his mouth to hers and buried himself to the hilt then let himself go.

He fell on top of her, gasping for air. She held on to him. She would hold on to him for as long as he wanted her to. She held on to him for a few more heartbeats, a million breaths more if he would let her.

It took him a good ten minutes before he begrudgingly swung off the bed to get her a fresh batch of croissants. "I'll be back," he promised then kissed her clammy forehead.

She was still lying contentedly in the kitchy four-poster bed when she heard an insistent tapping at the door. She wondered if Eric had forgotten his keys and quickly hopped off the bed and draped a fluffy white robe, which came with the room, over her nakedness.

She didn't bother to fix her messy hair when she opened the door. She knew exactly who would be at the other side. She immediately regretted her decision not to screen her visitor when she found herself face-to-face with a different kind of Northman.

Looking back at that exact moment she wondered if there was something she could have done to alter her fate. Three years later and she still came up empty.

* * *

**E/S**

"Your promises mean nothing," he snarled, his hand on her arm keeping her in place. "Remember all the bullshit promises you gave me?"

She closed her eyes. She couldn't take his scathing glare anymore.

"You said you're done running." His fingers curled around her arm tightly. "Yet here you are again threatening to run."

"You don't understand, Eric. I didn't run away from you," she choked. "I just ran."

* * *

**E/S**

"Lilith," she gasped, her hands clutching the front of her robe.

The 70-year-old matriarch with silver hair and piercing blue eyes shoved her inside the room with her wrinkled, jewellery-adorned hand. She gave Roman, his balding chauffeur, a curt nod and he pulled the door close behind the elder Northman.

Sookie could feel herself blanching as she retreated until the back of her knees hit the frame of the bed. Lilith kept eyeing her contemptuously, darting glances around the room, taking in Eric's black silk bow tie and tailored blazer on the small sofa by the window, and the foil packets of condoms on the bedside.

It was a bloody crime scene.

Sookie kept her eyes low as Lilith advanced toward her.

"Lilith -"

She didn't get to finish her sentence when a pale, bony hand flew and smacked her across the face with such brute force that sent her slumping on top of the bed. She cradled her cheek and felt moisture seeping out of the shallow gash from Lilith's diamond ring.

"I knew there's something wrong with you. Just like your homosexual sister," the tall, old woman hissed, tugging the lapel of her robe to pull her up. "Isn't it enough that my son took you in? Gave you our name? You have to drag my grandson into this blasphemous relationship, too?"

Sookie gripped her robe to keep from exposing her naked form.

"Please, Lilith," she begged the old woman. "I love him."

"Love!?" Lilith snarled. "This isn't love. This is you being greedy. You're not satisfied with what you can mooch off my son that you want what Eric stands to inherit as well!"

"No!" Sookie yelled which earned her another backhand from Lilith. For someone so old, Lilith still had the strength that could send Sookie reeling. She cupped the side of her face. "I don't want your stupid money! You can take it to your grave!"

The elder Northman yanked Sookie by her hair and tried to drag her off the bed. Sookie fought her off with one hand while keeping her other hand clutching the front of her robe.

"He loves me!" Sookie wailed as though that would make Lilith stop.

"Is that what you tell yourself when you part your legs for him?" Lilith hissed to her ear.

That hit a nerve. Bracing herself, she hoisted her lower body off the bed and with a sharp jerk of her elbow she pushed Lilith off her. The old woman careened backward before she lost her footing and hit her head against one of the carved wooden columns of the bed before she fell on the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

The old woman's body went limp as her eyes fluttered. Sookie, shell-shocked, dove to her side as she yelled for Roman.

The hulking chauffeur took one look at Lilith before he barked at Sookie to call 911.

The plump, middle-aged woman in a blue sundress, who owned the B&B, rushed inside the room to snoop and assess the damage made to her room. The commotion attracted attention that the guests couldn't help but duck their heads inside too. Sookie could only bow her head in shame as she asked the innkeeper for some privacy before she slammed the door shut.

Eric returned with a bag of freshly-baked croissants just before the paramedics arrived to take the unconscious Lilith to the nearest hospital.

Sookie was still shaking when he swooped in to her side and wrapped his arms around her. He didn't ask what happened. Sookie's bruised face told him everything he needed to know: _It was an ambush_.

Lilith had managed to track them down and she had waited for Eric to leave the little inn to confront Sookie.

She managed to keep herself together when they met their family in the hospital. Her mother couldn't help but weep when she saw the cut on her cheek. Michelle whispered apologies over and over again and Sookie could only bob her head in assent. It wasn't her mother's fault. Pam had the opposite reaction as she kept hissing profanities about the unconscious matriarch. Sookie silenced her younger sibling with a look when Godric emerged out of the ICU to give them update on Lilith's condition. The old woman had a concussion and a broken hip. She was in a drug-induced coma to relieve her from the severe pain. She would be kept under tight watch because her head injury might trigger a stroke.

No one dared speak about what happened. Even when the police arrived to ask a few questions, after the B&B manager reported the disturbance, Godric casually dismissed it as a slight misunderstanding among family members.

Godric decided to stay overnight and Michelle never left her husband's side.

Eric offered to drive Sookie and Pam back to the manor in Bel Air but Sookie refused. No one argued with her. She knew they were only being polite. Somehow the thought of spending another day in Lilith's house was hard to digest not only for Sookie. She asked them if she could go back to Seattle with Pam, and Eric was the first to say no.

"Let them, Eric. You're just making this situation harder than it already is," she heard Godric tell his son when he pulled him in the corner.

"I'll go with her," was Eric's firm rebuttal.

She heard Godric huff in annoyance and that was when she heard her mother jump in.

"You should stay with her," Michelle told Eric. "She would want to see you when she wakes up."

Sookie turned away with heavy steps. Bill was right. When the tornado hit them, it would be Sookie who would be left standing outside.

Bill, who came in later that day in the hospital, volunteered to drive the sisters to the airport.

She didn't even get to hug Eric goodbye because she was too ashamed to touch him. She trudged across the lobby like she was walking underwater. They didn't need to say it, the guilt was written all over her face: _She almost killed an old woman because she was in love with her stepbrother_.

* * *

**A/N: Sookie, not mine. Eric, I wish he was.**

**Thank you for indulging me and giving me feedback, too! They feed the starving muse. Okay so the shorter parts were the continuation of their present day talk while the longer ones were from the night Bill ratted on them. (Explain much?)**

**For those inquiring about DMH, I'll update it this week. Sorry that story was sent on the back burner because of this fic. Much love and happy TB Sunday!**


	8. Chapter 8

"I won't beg you," he gritted out, his eyes a stormy blue. "If you walk away now, I won't chase you. Not anymore."

The tears biting her eyes, spilled.

"I won't ask you to," she said almost inaudibly.

* * *

**E/S**

**(Spring, 2010)**

Pam begged her not to leave. Sookie steeled herself as she kissed her sister's forehead and told her she'd be back.

"Just after everything settles down around here," she lied, knowing for certain things in the Northman household would never revert to its old ways. _Ever_.

Pam was too clever to believe her, though. "When will that happen?" she asked, drilling her with a pointed glare. "When that old hag dies? She'll outlive us all, Sook. She's the fucking devil!"

Sookie clucked her tongue in reproach. "Don't talk like that! Don't let anyone hear you talk like that!" Flinging her arms around her sister's neck she pulled her into a hug so tight, hug she feared she might crush her. "It'll be easier for you and Mom if I'm not here."

Pam let her tears show, along with a pained, whimper she always made when she was suppressing a wail. "I hate you," she stated without conviction.

"I know, Pammie," Sookie sighed in defeat.

"Eric will hate you."

Sookie locked a pocket of air in her lungs. She knew that too. All too well.

"He'll move on," Sookie hushed. She brushed the tears off her cheeks before she drew away from her sister. "Just keep an eye on him, will you?"

She left Seattle two days after she returned from Los Angeles. She only had two semesters left in WSU but after recent events she doubted if she could still finish her studies. Michelle could support her schooling but with Pam also in college, Sookie was certain her mother wouldn't be able to afford it. And Sookie would not take a cent from Godric, not after Lilith accused her of being a gold-digger.

She had called Hadley, her second cousin from her father's side who lived in Brooklyn, and asked if she could stay with her for a while. Hadley and Sookie were almost the same age and relatively close. She was now living alone after her roommate moved to Paris to be a professional model, so she didn't mind having Sookie around.

The week after she got settled in New York, she was visited with two guests. One she didn't expect to see. One she didn't want to see.

Her first visitor was her mother. She was in the middle of her shower when Hadley alerted her of Michelle's arrival. Hadley left them so they could talk in private and Sookie appreciated the gesture.

"What are you doing here, Sookie?" was Michelle's form of greeting when Sookie emerged out of her bedroom in her black-skirt-and-plain-white-shirt-uniform. Hadley had helped her get a minimum wage job as a waitress in a diner a few blocks from their building. She was overqualified to be a wait staff, but it was New York and she was an undergraduate. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

Michelle was dipping a teabag in her steaming cup of water, sitting by the single-seat sofa near the window overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge.

Sookie didn't offer a response as she gave her mother a cursory peck on the cheek.

"Come back to Seattle with me," Michelle implored.

"You know I can't do that," was Sookie's snippy reply.

Her mother let out an audible sigh. "I never wanted this for you, Sookie. I want you to have the best life possible. I want you to finish college, get a good job. I didn't raise you to serve coffee to strangers who would never give you a second glance," Michelle began preaching. Hypocrisy seemed to run thick in their family. "Come back home with me. We can move past this… this…" Her voice trailed as she tried to come up with the appropriate word to call the incident in Los Angeles.

"This _what_, Mom?" Sookie spat through her teeth, cold eyes boring holes into Michelle.

Her mother matched her glare as she raised her chin and answered, "Mistake."

"Mistake?" Sookie scoffed. She turned around, taking deep breaths, as she tried to regain composure. After a pregnant pause she swiveled to face her mother, whose expression became less confrontational at the sight of her daughter on the brink of a breakdown. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing when you told me you were marrying Godric and that he wanted to adopt us."

"You know why we did that," Michelle replied without missing a beat.

Sookie's lips thinned. "Yeah. Because you said you love him and it's the right thing to do." Her eyes were getting glassy but she bit back her sob. "How, Mom? How can it be the right thing to do when you knew about me and Eric? You knew I love him."

"Sookie, you were only 17 then. You've been with Eric for what? Two years? Two tumultuous years. You were on and off like a stupid switch. Your so-called relationship was toxic."

Sookie kept her face blank. Their relationship had been turbulent at best. He was raucous and she was sagacious. They were compatible in their incompatibility. Her mother should have seen that. Apparently, she hadn't.

"Do you know how painful it is for a mother to hear her daughter cry over something she can't protect her from? Every time he breaks your heart, mine breaks even harder." Tears, her mother's weapon of choice. The same tool she used to manipulate her. "Call me selfish all you want but I will stand by my decision. I love you. And I love Godric. I want you girls to have a father again. I won't stand idly by while you and Eric try to tear each other apart, hiding behind what you deemed to be love."

"It _was_ love!" Sookie bellowed. "It still is. No matter how many times we fight we always find a way back to each other. You know that. Why don't you just admit it, Mom, you didn't have faith in us. You're afraid that if Eric and I fall apart we'll drag you and Godric with us."

Michelle at least had the decency to call a spade a spade. "You're right."

Sookie blinked, letting the tears pooling in her eyes cascade down her cheeks. "Do you wanna know why I let him adopt me? Because I want you be happy."

They must have the thinnest of walls back in their old house because like Michelle, Sookie could also hear her mother sob at night for years after Corbett passed away. Michelle, who was always a delight, had a smile for everyone like a true Southern woman. Polite and polished. No one outside their family knew that after dark, after she tucked her two girls to bed she would spend an hour in the corner of her room just staring at their wedding photo on the wall. Sometimes she would sneak in a glass of wine or a bottle of beer and just talk to her dead husband. She would tell him about her day or something Sookie or Pam did or something utterly trivial. Her stories varied every night but her parting message never did. She would tell him how much she missed him and how she wished he didn't have to leave so soon.

There was even a time when Pam, in all her volatile youth, had marched into her mother's room and screamed at her to stop talking to the man who would never answer her. Forever silent, held by nails on a wooden frame.

"When you told me you love Godric I believed you. I was happy for you because you found someone who will fill the void Dad left. I still am, Mom. I only wished it didn't cost me my own happiness."

Michelle was the first to make the move as she closed their gap and wrapped her arms around Sookie's heaving shoulder. "I'm so sorry, honey."

"I don't wanna be his sister, Mom," she said haltingly, returning her mother's hug, burying her face in her mother's silk blouse.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Michelle threaded her fingers in Sookie's damp hair. "I'm sorry this happened to you and I can't do anything to help you."

"You can," Sookie interjected, pulling back to stare at her as she wiped her nose dry with the back of her hand. "Have the adoption revoked. You can do that," words came tumbling out in earnest.

Michelle's beautiful face crumbled into a mix of sorrow and sympathy. "It's not as simple as that. Godric spoke to his mother after she got out of the hospital. She was going to cut him and Eric off completely for condoning what happened between you and Eric."

Sookie gasped, her eyes shifting wildly.

"When Godric didn't budge, she threatened to sue us if he tries to push through with it."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sookie stepped back from her mother. "She'll sue her own son?"

Michelle's cheeks hollowed as she tried to strangle a sob. "No, Sookie. She's going to file an assault charge against _you_."

Sookie sucked in a sharp breath. "But she attacked _me_!"

"I know that. Then again it'll be your word against her. There's a chance we can still win but Lilith has the money. She can drag this on just to bleed us dry. Roman was willing to testify that it was you who attacked Lilith when she came to the B&B to confront you," Michelle relayed the depth of Lilith's hatred toward her. "If this goes to court and they ask you what you were doing in that inn and who you were with, you'll be subjected to public ridicule. You and Eric. No one will bother with your history. You will always be the girl who slept with her brother. I don't want that for you, Sookie."

Sookie's hands clapped over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. This wasn't happening, she chanted in her head. Her legs weren't strong enough to keep her up as she sank to the floor. Michelle kneeled in front of her, stroking her arms like only a mother could, black streaks of mascara tainting her alabaster face.

"Does Eric know?" she asked without looking up.

Michelle shook her head. "Godric didn't tell him. He's afraid Eric might do something rash. You know how he is."

She did. She knew Eric would try to fight Lilith with all that he had. He was the willful one between them. His sheer determination was his most admirable trait. She envied him for that. She hoped his doggedness would rub off on her. She could use some of that right now.

"What happens now?"

Michelle pinched Sookie's chin, tipping her head up to lock gazes with her daughter. "I'm going to give you something I didn't give you before," she spoke gently. "A choice. You can choose to forget him. Come back to Seattle with me. We'll talk to the university so you can get your degree. You'll find a job. You'll meet a good man, someone who'll give you the life you deserve."

She lowered her gaze to the floor. She already had a vision of what kind of life she deserved and the one person she wanted to spend it with.

"Or," Michelle seized her attention back to her, nudging her chin up. "Or - and I know this makes me a bad Christian for saying this out loud – Or… you can wait until the witch dies. You said it yourself; you will always find your way back to him. After Lilith's gone and if you still want to be with Eric, then Godric and I will file for divorce. Lilith only has a few more miles left in her. I'd kill her myself if I could. Lord knows I've thought about it when she laid her hand on you."

"Mom…" Sookie chided softly. Hearing her sweet, gracious mother speak of such a thing caught her off guard.

Michelle chuckled bitterly. "Alas, I can't do that to Godric. She's still his mother," Michelle sighed. "The choice is yours, hon."

It wasn't really much of a choice because none of those options would give her what she wanted _now_.

The silence that hung in the air was staggering – thick and uneasy. After what seemed like an eternity, Sookie pulled herself up, hauling her mother with her. "I should leave. My shift starts in half an hour and I can't be late."

"Sookie," Michelle called out when she brushed past her.

"I'm not going back to Seattle, Mom." She took her sling bag off the wooden coat stand beside the door and draped it over her shoulder. "If I can't be with him then I'd rather stay here. I told him I won't pretend to be his sister anymore. I owe him that much."

Her second visitor was Eric. He called her after he found out she had left when he came back to Seattle two weeks after the incident in the B&B. She didn't take any of his phone calls but that didn't stop him from leaving her messages. His voicemails varied from worried, to angry, to frustrated, to desperate. There were so many times when she almost caved in and picked up, but Hadley was always there to stop her. She was like a recovering alcoholic and Eric was a shot of bourbon.

She was coming home from work when she found him. His long legs stretched out and occupied two stone steps as he hunkered down on the landing, thus blocking half of the entrance to her building.

She called Hadley and asked her to tell him that she wasn't living with her anymore. He refused to believe her cousin. He sure was as stubborn as hell.

He stayed for a couple more hours, as though he knew she was watching him. Then he yelled out for Hadley to come down from her second-floor apartment. He gave her the room number of the hotel he was staying in, "Tell her to give me a call when she decides to be an adult again," were his exact words.

Sookie went to his hotel that same night only to turn back around when she was only a foot from his door. She could hear the thumping sound of the television blaring like ricocheting cannonballs inside her chest. She realized then that she was indeed a coward. A child, like he accused her to be, ill-equipped to face his wrath. She went to the café outside his hotel and lingered longer than she was supposed to. Hoping she could catch even a glimpse of him. She left when the coffee shop was about to close and darted to the nearest payphone booth. She didn't know what to pray for. For him to still be awake or for him to be blissfully asleep so she could just leave him a message that was as pathetic as her. The sigh of disappointment that bubbled out of her throat when her call went straight to voicemail was her answer.

She stayed with her coworker from the diner for three days while Eric was in town. He dropped by Hadley's apartment everyday like clockwork. He gave up after the third day and Sookie went back to Hadley's place, feeling worse than when she first arrived.

For two months all she got was radio silence from Eric. Then one day, on her way to the diner for the swing shift, she received a text from Hadley informing her that Eric was back in town and was waiting for her in the restaurant. She managed to evade him by calling in sick only to follow him around the city.

She shadowed him as he visited the places they had been to when they went to New York six years ago. She watched him as he fiddled with his food like a kid and retired to his hotel like a nomad. Once in a while he would look over his shoulder, somehow sensing her presence. And she would duck behind a wall or a tree like they were playing hide and seek. Only they weren't playing. Those days were gone.

They were now chasing each other's shadows.

'_Go home, Eric,'_ she would implore him silently all the while wishing he would spend one more day in the same city with her. One more day, she would beg the God she had forgotten in a while. One more day with Eric and she could survive another month.

* * *

**E/S**

"After all these years you're still a fucking hypocrite," he hissed, shaking his head in disappointment. There were a couple of passersby, who couldn't help but steal a glance at them in the alleyway.

She pressed herself harder against the bricked wall, hiding in the shadow that embraced her like an old friend.

* * *

**E/S**

**(Early Summer, 2010)**

It was easy to get lost in the Big Apple. But it was easier to get lost in her own thoughts.

She followed Eric to midtown Manhattan when he left the diner the next day. Her heart skipped to her throat when he went inside the Empire State Building. She didn't trail him there, though. It was the kind torment she wasn't ready for.

She marched into Walgreens and went straight to the feminine care aisle, running her fingers across the selection of pregnancy test kits. She closed her eyes for a moment, transporting herself back to the time she and Pam purchased the purple box more than six years ago.

_**(Summer, 2004. Seattle)**_

The air was muggy like it was now. It was summer and the heat was unforgiving. Beads of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. They were in her backyard garden. Eric, in his plain black wifebeater and track pants, was studying her as they sat side by side on the wooden porch swing beside the rose bed.

"I missed my period," she blurted when the silence became stifling.

Eric gawped then stilled. She hoped he would say something. Anything.

"Are you – I mean – have you taken the test?" he stuttered after a long pause. It was the one test Sookie didn't want to pass.

She shook her head. "I just realized today when Pam asked me if I needed a new batch of tampons."

Crickets chirped to fill the stillness in the air.

"Eric…" She turned to him. He was catatonic, face devoid of color. "I'm – I'm not asking you to do anything. I just thought you should know, in case…"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as though he was getting rid of water in his ears. "Yeah. Yeah. Of course. I'm glad you told me."

They succumbed to another awkward lull. As the song went, someone must be watching over them, because a few minutes later that someone had sent Pam to rescue them from the growing discomfiture that came with her news.

The screen door of the kitchen swung open and Pam ducked her head to tell Eric that Godric was on the phone.

Eric left with heavy steps and a promise to drop by again later that day. She could only nod her response as she waited for him until the following day. But no Eric showed up. She found out from Godric that Eric drove to Vancouver the previous night to visit his cousin from his mother side. Sookie instantly became despondent. She cried her frustration out that night and the one after that while tuning out Pam's incessant muttering on how they could exact revenge on the spineless bastard who upped and left her.

On the fourth night he came back, sneaking into her room like an unwanted disease. Pam almost bashed his head with a curling iron if it wasn't for Sookie's hushed plea. "You have five minutes," Pam told him, playing the part of the protective sibling.

He didn't speak, though. Instead he pulled out a small cushion cut diamond ring set in a gold band. Pam scoffed at the size of the rock, "So this is what Rhode Island looks like from Google Earth."

"Pamela," Sookie snapped to silence her sister. Pam, snark and all, knew it was time to shut up when her sister used her full name. She stomped out of their room but not without shooting Eric a stabbing look.

Rubbing his hand against the five o'clock shadow along his jawline, he began his explanation. He admitted that he drove across the border and went to Vancouver, where he stayed with his cousin, Alexei for a couple of days. Alexei was good in auctioning off used stuff on ebay and he helped Eric sell some of his pricey gadgets online, including his black Volvo. When she asked him why he took so long, his only reply was, "I took the bus." That was saying something because Eric Northman would never take public transport for anything.

"This is just a loan until I can get you the ring you deserve," he whispered as he slipped the gold band on her trembling finger. "Marry me, Sookie. I can't promise you it will be easy but I can tell you will always be here. Always. What do you say?"

She couldn't help but smile. The gesture took her by surprise. His plan was flawed and hasty but damn if it didn't knock her off her feet. She cupped the side of his face and he leaned into her palm as he waited for her response. "Your proposal needs work."

He chuckled. "Do you want me to go down on one knee?"

She shook her head. "I got my period yesterday. You're off the hook. But it's nice to know you're ready to man up, Northman," she managed to say while strangling a sob. "And just so you know, I don't like gold. It's a pompous piece of metal. Get your car back before your dad kills you. When you get me a new ring, I promise I'll say yes."

She must have imagined it but she swore she saw a flicker of disappointment flash in his eyes. He swore he'd give her a ring that was made of silver just to annoy her. She giggled, "Don't think I won't take it."

He slept in her bed that night while Pam was relegated to the couch. He must have been so tired because the minute his back hit the mattress all Sookie could hear was his soft snoring. Sookie watched him sleep, encasing her body in his arms, breathing in his scent. She drifted off that night with a single thought in her head: _One day she would be a Northman_.

Six months later, her wish was granted. She became a Northman.

* * *

**E/S**

"Why did you marry him?"

Wringing her hands together, she felt the absence of her wedding band. "Where's my -?"

She didn't get to finish her question when Eric cut her off. "I threw it away," was his callous response.

"That won't change the fact that I'm married now," she hushed, trying hard to put some edginess in her tone, but failing miserably.

"To Bill Compton?" She could tell when he was forcing a sneer. "I didn't realize you were that desperate to get away from me."

He got one thing right. She _was_ desperate.

* * *

**E/S**

**(Early Summer, 2010)**

It was as if some cosmic power had told her to get out of the drugstore when she did because as soon as she stepped outside the Walgreens she spotted him immediately. It wasn't an incredible feat considering he was freakishly tall and he seemed to have the power to stand out in the crowd.

Keeping her distance, she went after him again. Call it obsession. Call it masochism. Call it insanity. She couldn't bring herself to give a damn. Her eyes followed him as he marched back to his hotel. She would stop punishing herself tomorrow. Tomorrow she would let him go. Today she would saturate herself with his presence.

She got back to Brooklyn a little after midnight with Hadley waiting for her. "This isn't healthy, Sook," Hadley observed with a disapproving glower. She was getting accustomed to receiving that particular gaze.

She nodded mutely before she went to the bathroom. She was about to take a certain test for the second time in her life.

She stared at the stick lying on the sink for a long time, watching another faint line appear beside the first one. Her mother was right. No one would bother with their history. No one would read the footnote at the bottom of the page. She wanted to cry foul but she was afraid no one would listen.

That night as she lay in the hard mattress of Hadley's spare bed, she put her palm on her stomach and wondered if Eric had kept the ring.

* * *

**E/S**

"You never should have returned," he told her with unblinking eyes. He turned his back to her before he started walking away.

Every cell in her body shuddered in protest. _'Don't go,'_ she almost yelled out. Her shoulder quaked as she watched him leave until his shadow disappeared completely. She straightened her stance, dusting off invisible dust on her skirt. Brushing her cheeks dry she started her trek back to her empty house. She kept her eyes to the ground, kicking the dried leaves that were helpless against her assault.

She thought she could do it. Love him without having him. She had been deluding herself that love was not a possession. That as long as she could see him, close their gap, she would be fine. She thought there was nothing worse than to miss him from a distance. She was wrong. _This_ was worse.

Back in the darkness of her room, she let herself go. It was easier to break down when no one was watching.

* * *

**A/N: Characters not mine. **

**Timeline shifts back and forth to the continuation of the last chapter after Lilith confronted Sookie in the B&B. I'm going Inception with this using a flashback within a flashback. Hehe. Sorry if it gets confusing. **

**I hope the pacing isn't too slow. Anyway, thank you for reading and leaving reviews. They are love. **

**I love y'all!**

**A big shout to **_**amandagm**_**, who does pro bono work for me. She is a truly awesome beta. Check her out, she wrote a fic about what would happen after the f*ckery of book 13 of the SVM series. I changed a few details after she went over my copy so all other mistakes are mine. And to **_**lost in space **_**for ****plugging this fic on her latest chapter of Les Bon Temps Rouler. Thanks, m'loves!**

**I posted this on my wordpress page too. eys1214 . wordpress. com - which came with photos.**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Flashback to 2006, during Eric's first motorcycle accident…**_

* * *

"_It's a death machine," she told him at once, not even trying to hide her disgust at his new toy. _

_His hands flew to cover the vintage motorbike's handgrips. "Shh… he might hear you."_

_She leaned forward until her face was millimeters from his hand. "I don't like you, Barkley. You're going to kill my boyfriend," she whispered melodiously before she straightened up and glared at Eric. "Get rid of it, Eric. I'm serious."_

_His finger snuck beneath her chin and placed a chaste kiss on her pouting lips. "Don't be jealous. You're still my number one girl," he teased, refusing to relent. _

_She rolled her eyes and with a final stabbing look she left him in the garage. _

* * *

"Eric."

His eyes were heavy. He was loopy from the drugs swirling in his veins. He was sure he was given the good stuff because he felt like he was as light as a fucking feather.

"Eric."

_Sookie_, he wanted to reply. She didn't like to repeat herself. She was bossy like that. She was too damn bossy when she asked – no scratch that, _demanded_ was more like it – to get rid of Barkley, his grandmother's newest sweetener to make him visit her more often in Bel Air.

She had been right. It was a death machine. It took several contusions and a couple of broken ribs to make him realize that Sookie's power of deduction was almost always dead on.

Oh, she would have a field day from this.

Wait, no. She wouldn't.

"Eric." Her voice was soft, but still prodding.

His eyes fluttered and the sight that greeted him made his heart plummet to his stomach. Bloodshot eyes, ruddy nose, onionskin face, and lines folded on her forehead. _He_ made her look like that. _Great job, asshat._

Her face crumbled as relief washed over her. "Hi," she whispered as she traced the side of his face with fleeting fingers. He braced himself for the judgy look and the I told you so's.

Zilch.

"Hey," he croaked, forcing himself to smile. And it was like an imaginary button was pushed as Sookie's chin quivered before she buried her face against his chest, her shoulders quaking. The impact made him wince but he bit back the groan as he wrapped his good arm around her. He could tell she was trying hard not to put too much pressure on his chest when he felt the tightening of the muscles on her back. He wanted to hug her tighter. Pull her closer. Tell her that he didn't mind the pain.

Why didn't he just listen to her? Why did he have to race that eight-wheeler truck at the highway to prove his masculinity?

"I thought I'd lost you," she mumbled against his gauzy hospital gown that was getting drenched with a mixture of saline and snot. "I thought I'd never -" she said haltingly. She couldn't even finish her sentence as an onslaught of choking whimpers took over. He would have beaten himself purple if he wasn't already a canvass of black and blue.

"Sorry," he finally uttered.

Every move was painful. Even the strong cocktail of drugs in his blood weren't robust enough to numb him. He couldn't even cringe without pulling an unseen string connected to his muscles. But he wasn't going to be a pussy. Not now. Not when she was tethered to him like this.

"Don't cry. Y'know you can't get rid of me that easy," was his lame attempt to lighten the mood.

No luck, though. She remained a bawling mess.

He let her weep, all the while berating himself for being an inconsiderate prick. She made him swear he wouldn't ride Barkley again and he nodded in earnest. He would promise her anything just to make her stop crying. Barkley, which to his shock didn't suffer any major damage, had been locked up in their garage.

His grandmother sent him a black Volvo the following week. Lilith was so remorseful for the part she played in his accident that she gave him the safest – and most boring - car in the world.

Sookie held vigil beside him. She didn't even move when Godric came in.

That was fine by him.

When a stout, small-eyed nurse strolled in and asked Sookie to move, Eric, in all his fragile strength, gave the invasive nurse a withering look. The nurse's eyes shrunk into slits in fear as she conceded at once. It was one argument she knew she wouldn't win.

Sookie begged Godric if she could stay with Eric for the night, and the older Northman gave his consent. It was futile to refuse her. One look at the couple and Godric knew he would have to use a crowbar to pry Sookie from his teenage son's arms.

Eric had never seen her cling to him that much. It was a welcome change. Maybe he needed to get hurt every once in a while to bring out that side of her.

When a new nurse came in to pump him up with more meds, he turned to her and rasped, "Don't go anywhere."

She lifted her face off his chest and hopped on the mattress, squeezing next to him in the small hospital bed. "Do you honestly think I'd let you out of my sight after your ghostrider stunt? Not a chance, buster. Not a frickin' chance in hell."

A huge grin took over his face before his eyelids started drooping as the drug started weaving its magic into his system, pulling him under.

"Eric…" she hushed, sweeping loose hair off his temple.

"Hmm…" he hummed, relishing the numbness seeping into his bones. _Sookie and dope, what a sweet combination._

"Never scare me like that again, okay? I can't lose you," she choked.

His eyes popped open, turning his head to her.

_Dammit, Sookie, don't cry now,_ he pleaded mutely. He didn't know how long he could stay awake and he didn't want to pass out on her when she was still so vulnerable.

"You won't," he forced himself to mutter as his eyes flickered again.

"Good," she said with soft smile before she bent her head to the crook of his neck. "Because I kinda love you. A lot."

_Kinda_, he'd take that. _Wait_, did she say she _loved_ him? A lot? They had been seeing each other for four months and it was the first time she had used the L-word. And it was the kind of declaration no amount of sedative could drown.

He didn't know what his reply was. He was sure it was jibberish. Hell, he wasn't even certain if he had said anything _at all_. But before he completely surrendered to the wonder of morphine and valium, he made a vow to make it up to her. He was going to do everything humanly possible – or at the very least, everything Eric Northman-ly possible – to make her feel that he loved her, too.

Not just _kinda_. And definitely more than _a lot_.

* * *

**E/S**

**_Present day…_**

Mornings were always the hardest.

Sometimes he would wake up and reach out to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. It was always empty. And cold. Sometimes he would yell out profanities out of sheer frustration. But most days he would just stare at the ceiling and breathe until he was calm enough to start his day.

It was stupid how he had to remind himself to breathe, the way he had to remind himself that she wasn't his anymore. Not for a very long time.

Mornings were always the hardest but it was his way of paying penance. The guilt of sleeping with another woman was too overwhelming that he couldn't allow them to stay the night. He was meant to wake up alone.

'_No sleepover,' _was the first rule in his house.

Women could linger. He would offer to drive them home or get them a cab. He would give them one of his smaller shirts or leather jackets if he accidentally destroyed their clothes. He would suggest coffee or pancakes from the 24-hour diner down the street. He refused to call them breakfast. Bed followed by breakfast pulled so many clashing emotions from him.

But there were those who were brazen enough to break rule number one. Those, who would crawl under his sheets and wait for him to pass out just so they could stay in until he wakes up, would be dealt with icy indifference.

Mornings were always the hardest. This morning was particularly more difficult. It was like waking up with a massive hangover.

'_He's not you.' _

Well that wasn't much of stretch. She didn't need to say it out loud. He knew she was only settling with Bill. That weasel was nothing but a convenient excuse.

Last night was the closest he ever came to setting her straight. He almost had it. He almost had her. She just had to be annoyingly rational and infuriatingly righteous.

He brooded over his stance onadultery. Fuck it. It would just be another sin on top of all others he was willing to go to hell for.

For her.

He told her he wouldn't chase her anymore. That he was putting his foot down. He would walk away. He would stop running after the past they had once shared. No more, he told himself over and over as he watched her walk back to that wretched house she was adamant to turn into a home.

He told her he wouldn't share her. Not to anyone. Especially to a dead beat like Compton. He wouldn't stoop that low. Not even for her.

He wouldn't love her anymore.

It was the biggest fucking lie he ever told himself.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Three days later…**_

Eric heard the doorbell ring. He swept the heavy blackout curtain with his good hand to check if it was one of those pesky Stepford Wives welcoming him to the neighborhood yet again. Or worse, it could be Portia Bellefleur, his real estate agent, who had been stopping by his new place every day with some lame excuse to chat with him.

If she wasn't such a damn good agent, he would have shunned her too. But Portia was a shark. She managed to get him the house he wanted on such short notice.

Mercifully, it wasn't Portia or some nosy neighbor. It was Sam Merlotte, the bartender at his bar, The Tavern. He had asked Sam to gather some of his things from his Belltown apartment to bring to his newly-acquired, semi-furnished house.

He raced downstairs, afraid that Sam might be spotted by the woman who lived across the street.

"Hiya, boss!" Sam chirped, smoothing his unruly reddish blonde hair. "Got your stuff. Oh, and your doorman said Nora dropped by again today lookin' for you."

Avoiding Nora was easy. Keeping his distance from Sookie was fucking undoable.

It was ironic because Nora was the one who was being unavoidable. She had stopped by his apartment five times in three days. It was fortunate that no one but Sam knew of his change of address.

Her calls were almost as exasperating as her. He never answered any of them. There was nothing more to say. Nora pretty much summed it all up in her seemingly unending rant during their exhausting break-up talk the day he was discharged from the hospital.

What was it with women and their obsession with the whole break-up scene?

* * *

**E/S**

**_Ten days ago…_**

"You can't be serious?" Nora asked, shaking her head lightly while putting her wineglass on top of the counter that doubled as his mini bar.

He most definitely was.

"You're breaking up with me?" she spat, shooting him a look of disbelief. "Because of _her_. Because she's back?" she chuckled bitterly. "You must have knocked your head a lot harder than you thought if you think you can have a relationship with her, other than one you two already have."

Eric rubbed his temple. This was exactly why he had distanced himself from the whole dating arena.

"What _is_ your endgame, Eric?" Nora eyed him closely, inching toward him as she crossed the sliding glass doors that separated the living room and the small patio of his seventh-floor apartment in Belltown.

He had waited until they were back in his pad before he decided to have 'the talk' with her. He didn't want to do it in the hospital in fear that she would create a scene. Nora loved her drama. It was what had drawn him to her in the first place.

That and their mutual hate for Lilith.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Six months ago…**_

Nora was the chef de cuisine in Lilith's new restaurant in Seattle. It was one of his grandmother's scheming ways to bridge the gap between them after the incident at the B&B. It had been almost three years but he still hadn't forgiven her for driving Sookie away.

Olive branches came in many forms – gifts, favors, even half-hearted apologies. He scoffed at all of them. Lilith knew what she had to do to atone, but she was too proud to cave in to his only demand.

It had been the longest cold war the Northmans had ever seen. One that Eric had no intention of losing.

He moved out of his apartment - the one Lilith gave him for his 19th birthday - a month after Sookie left for New York. He used the money he saved up when he was living alone in Philadelphia during college to get his own place in Belltown. Lilith tried to bribe him with his trust fund, to no avail. It seemed he loved Sookie more than his lavish lifestyle.

Every step Lilith took toward him only made him back up a few steps more.

When Lilith invited him to go to the soft opening of her upscale new restaurant in downtown Seattle, Eric saw it as another opportunity to flip Lilith the proverbial bird.

It was harder than he originally thought. Lilith's ostentatious remarks and feeble attempts to reconnect with him were getting on his nerves. Slinking inside the walk-in cellar behind the kitchen, Eric helped himself to his grandmother's collection of rare spirits. He was halfway through his 1994 Fonseca Port when he heard his grandmother's familiar holier-than-thou voice as she lashed out on some pitiful soul just outside the walk-in wine chiller.

Lilith was ruthless as she berated the head chef about the unimpressive line of aperitif. Classic Lilith. He rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore the whole song and dance. But as he was chugging down the rest of his drink, the unexpected happened. The cook with a thick British accent volleyed back with an equally-spicy rebuttal. The amused smile that crept up his face took him by surprise.

Finally, he thought in glee, someone was standing up to the uppity matriarch. A sharp pang of melancholia disarmed him as he was reminded of a certain feisty blonde, who had the same smart mouth.

Lilith stomped out of the kitchen and went back to entertaining her snobby guests while Nora hung back. Eric didn't know if it was Nora's fiery attitude or his desire to get back at Lilith that made him slip out of the cellar to offer the irate chef one of his grandmother's finest wines. By the time they had finished two bottles of Port, Nora was half naked and panting under him.

The cellar was the perfect backdrop for the hate lay. It was as cold as his heart and as dark as his goal. He didn't mind that he couldn't see most of her, just the silhouette of her lissome figure. Petite and slender, like the woman who didn't have the gall to fight for him.

If he squinted hard enough he could blur Nora into _her_.

* * *

**E/S**

**_Ten days ago…_**

"You lied to me. You used me," Nora accused him, jabbing a finger at his chest. He wondered if Nora had it in her to push him off the balcony.

"I never lied to you," he said in a firm tone. "You knew exactly what you were getting into."

Her lips twisted into a cold sneer, trying to put up a strong face amid the tears pooling in her eyes. "That's your bloody excuse? You never lied to me?" She crossed her arms against her chest. "Well forgive me for being a delusional whore who thought you're actually capable of loving someone else."

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, Nora. But I've told you time and time again, I can't be with you the way you want me to," he said almost apologetically.

"Neither can _she_," she retorted without skipping a beat. "She's your sister. Not to mention the fact that she's a married woman. Hopeless doesn't even begin to sum up how fucked up your situation is."

"This isn't about her." He could barely disguise the slight tremor in his voice. Nora was treading on dangerous grounds and he didn't know how long he could keep his emotions at bay.

If it was any consolation, he had been a good lover to Nora.

No. Not lover. Lover implied he had emotional attachment to her when he never really did. Partner would be a more ideal appellation.

He showered her with extravagant gifts and spoiled her like royalty. He was overcompensating for something he couldn't give her.

So, maybe she was right. It was his fault. Maybe he did too much. Maybe, in a way, he made Nora feel like she had a fighting chance against _her_. Fueled by his revulsion against Lilith, he didn't realize that he was using Nora. Not as a stand-in for Sookie. Even Nora knew she couldn't be _her_.

He used Nora to prove a stupid point to his grandmother.

"This _is_ about her. It's always been about her," Nora snapped, clutching the front of his shirt and yanking it hard. "You're not in love with her. You're in love with the chase. You're obsessed with the idea of loving someone you can't have. Because you, Eric Northman, can never be in love with anyone other than yourself!"

He swallowed thickly. He wouldn't even dignify that with a response. He wasn't in love with the chase.

Because there had been a time - not too long ago - when Sookie wasn't running.

By the time Nora was done enumerating synonyms for insensitive bastard, he was exhausted. He was physically drained and his body was screaming for some Vicodin. He was rueful enough that he broke the foremost rule in his house when he offered her to stay the night.

He even gave her permission to trash his place if that would make her feel better. He would leave the apartment and stay in a hotel. The Sheraton sounded so tempting right now, knowing _she_ would be there.

He must have been telegraphing his thoughts loud and clear when Nora turned down his offer and said, "You're going to her, aren't you? Do you have any idea how pathetic you are?"

Again, he gave her nothing but silence.

She was gripping the silver door handle, ready to leave, when she stopped and turned to him. "I could have been everything you want, Eric. I could give you everything she couldn't. You're just too bloody stubborn to give me a chance."

Nora had never been so wrong. He _did_ try. He gave himself a chance to see Nora as someone other than a substitute.

He had been trying for fuck knows how long. He just kept on failing every single time.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Present day…**_

Four nights in his new dwelling made him realize he was a vampire. A nocturnal creature, who could never be seen in daylight.

Owning a club served him well, because he only needed to leave the house at sundown. Sam and the rest of his staff kept throwing him baffled looks because he had been coming in later than usual only to leave two hours before closing time.

He never gave them any explanation. His personal life was sealed. It was bad enough that they knew of his history with Sookie, because most of them grew up in the same neighbourhood as them, they didn't need to know anything other than their past.

Pam, who also invested a small sum on The Tavern, would drop by every night for their regular inventory. Being a good stepsibling, she would always check in on him with a cursory, "How're you holding up?" More often now after his accident and Sookie's unexpected return.

He would answer her with a slow shrug and that was the end of their discussion. Although they had grown closer over the years, there were still some things they could not talk about freely.

Pam, like Eric, had learned to compartmentalize her feelings. She had placed Sookie in one of her hidden vaults. Never to be opened. Aside from the vaults, Pam had also built a wall around her. Her strong façade was always intact along with her snark.

The only time he saw her fortress crack was when she begged him to bring her sister home.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Three years ago after the B&B incident…**_

"Where is she?" His question was directed at Michelle, who seemed to shrink under his glare when he stormed inside the Northman residence in First Hill the night he came back from Los Angeles and discovered Sookie was gone.

"Eric." Godric dragged his name out with the tone his father used on him every time Eric had crossed the line. But he wasn't the one who had overstepped his bounds this time. They were the ones toeing invisible borders, shamelessly holding the parent card over their heads for five long years.

"Where is she?" he repeated, advancing inside the den, where his stepmother and his father were hunched over the sofa, mulling over scattered documents on the short oval center table made of polished marble.

Michelle placed a hand on Godric's thigh before she pulled herself up to meet Eric halfway. His stepmother was always genial. Refined and polite, never losing her temper unlike her volatile daughter.

Looking at her was like staring at Sookie. She had the same smile, the same eyes, the same quiet confidence. It was painful to train his eyes on her only to be reminded that she was not the Stackhouse he wanted to see.

"I've already talked to her, Eric," Michelle muttered evenly, taking wary steps toward him. "She needed the space. She's been through so much."

"And whose fault was that?" he countered, drilling her with a contemptuous look. He was done skirting around Michelle. She and his father were very much to blame as Lilith.

"Eric!" Godric exclaimed, springing off the couch to position himself beside his wife. "What's done is done. If you really care for her, you'd leave her be."

Eric's lips thinned. There were so many things he wanted to say but they were all moot. Waste of his time and energy that he only wanted to channel into finding her.

Godric must have misread his silence as acceptance as the older Northman took a step closer and clamped a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's better this way, Eric. This way you can keep her forever."

With a jerk of his shoulder, he shrugged out of his father's grip. "Screw forever. I don't want it," he gritted out. "I want her."

Godric gaped at him as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"You already have your happy ending. Let me have mine." Eric turned to leave the den when Pam rushed in front of him.

"She's in New York. She's staying with our cousin Hadley," Pam uttered hurriedly before Michelle could stop her. She took his hand and pressed a slip of paper in his palm. "Bring her home, Eric. Please."

Her eyelashes, thick and long like Sookie's, stood out and quivered. They were spiky and wet from tears and Eric discerned that, for once, he and Pam were on the same page.

Pivoting to the front door, he heard two set of footsteps scurrying after him.

"She's not coming back, Eric," Michelle yelled out as a last-ditch effort to stop him.

His steps didn't taper as he swung the door open. _Who the fuck told them he was bringing her back to them?_

* * *

**E/S**

**_Present day…_**

It had been too long since he had taken residence in a gated community. There was something serene about the suburbs.

He would wake up at nine and look out his second-floor bedroom window. He would wait until the woman who lived across the street had picked up her morning paper before he would stealthily get his.

He envied the postman, who always spared five minutes to exchange random chit-chat with her every afternoon midway through his usual route.

He threw death glares at the scruffy man she hired to paint her white picket fence when he caught the bastard throwing sidelong glances at her when she was watering her garden.

He resented her next-door neighbor, a middle-aged, family man who held her hand a few minutes longer when he handed her a welcome basket of wines and scented candles.

It was a good thing he moved in when he did. She was surrounded by opportunists.

He couldn't help but feel cheated every time he saw someone start a lengthy and breezy conversation with her like they were long lost friends when _he_ was the one who missed her the most. The one who knew her better than anyone.

She was his best friend and his lover bundled up in a pretty blonde package.

On his third day, he saw a U-haul truck pull up in front of her house and he cursed audibly when one of the movers let her help carry a wooden armoire. That woman was always too meek to let the hired help do their job. She just had to be a fucking girl scout and lend a hand. And those spineless bastards were letting her.

He almost ran outside to help. But before he could change into something less Hugh Hefner-y in his red silk robe and black string pajamas, and more boy-next-door with a pair of jeans and a hoodie, she was already bounding out of her bungalow with a pitcher of lemonade in hand.

Besides with his short-arm cast, he doubted if he would be of any assistance. Plus, he didn't want to blow his cover.

Her husband, the perpetual letdown, still hadn't shown up and she was left to deal with all the renovation and decoration. If he was her husband she wouldn't have to lift a damn finger.

He called their former cleaning service and sent them over to her house that same day under the pretense that it was her mother who hired them. As expected she was reluctant to accept the extra set of hands. It was a good thing he gave the agency stern instructions to never take no for an answer.

On the fourth day, he woke up at nine to find her rolling a peat spreader across her front lawn, scattering seeds of cool-season grass for the fall. The fact that he knew what a peat spreader was was testament enough on how much she adored her gardens.

She finished before noon and his eyes were granted a feast when she decided to eat her Chinese dim sum out on her front porch as she admired her hard work on her lawn. He should have been there with her. He could be hunkering down beside her on the stone steps eating greasy spring rolls from white cardboard take-out boxes. He could imagine himself trying his darned best to look manly with chopsticks, only to fail miserably. She would reflexively laugh at his attempts and he would silence her with his lips.

God, he missed her.

Sometimes, if was lucky, he would get home before all her lights were out. He would sprint to his bedroom and peer through the curtains.

"Goodnight, Sookie," he would whisper to nobody.

He wasn't lying when he said he wouldn't chase her anymore. It wasn't a chase if he lived right across the street.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**I hope the timeline wasn't as confusing as the previous chapters. Thank you for taking the time to read. Your thoughts are love.**

**A big shout out to amandagm, she's a freakin' rock star! All other mistakes are mine. And to sweetmg, who reminded me of my huge girl crush on Natalie Portman. Natalie Portman is my Sookie on this fic. I know she doesn't have blue eyes or natural blonde hair. See: **_**girl crush**_**. Feel free to imagine your own Sookie.**

**Thank you, thank you!**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Present day…**_

_Hello sweets, _

_How are you, my love? _

_I dreamed of you last night. Dad brought you a big dog - almost as big as you – I got mad at Dad because he's making me the bad cop, who won't let you keep the dog. _

_You cried – more like bawled – and said, Momma let 'Googoo' stay. (You said the last word with the silent S because you can't pronounce your esses yet). _

_Yes, love, you've named the dog Googoo because, apparently, Goofy's already taken. You and Dad must have been watching too much Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when I'm not home._

_Don't worry, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. (But Dad is.) _

_Sadly, I woke up before I delivered the verdict on Googoo. But I don't think I'll be able to say no to you. Well, how can anyone say no to you with your big blue eyes? Momma's a sucker for those baby blues. _

_It's already getting nippy outside, love. I bet you'll love winter here. It's a shame I can't show you around._

_I miss you. More so today than yesterday. _

_But it's okay, because Momma knows you're in a place where no one can hurt you. _

_I hope I see you again tonight, angel._

_Love,_

_Momma_

She read the tearstained letter one more time before she folded it and put it in a white envelope. She licked the edges and pressed it to her lips. She tiptoed in front of the egg-shell louvered closet and pulled the black Nike shoebox that was shoved all the way in. She placed the letter on top of the hundreds more she had written in the past two years. All sealed, never to be read again.

Then she went for a jog. It was raining outside. All the better, Sookie thought, no one could tell she was crying in the rain.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Three years ago the morning after she found out she was pregnant...**_

"Are you sure?" Hadley asked her for the fifth time in less than an hour as they sat across each other from the small square wooden table beside the kitchen window. It was a small apartment so everything was cramped together.

Sookie took a healthy gulp of her fresh milk, leaving a faint white moustache above her upper lip. No more caffeinated drinks for her from now on.

"I took another test this morning. I've read that the first pee of the day's the most potent," Sookie replied calmly. "And yes, Had, there are still two stripes."

Hadley leaned back in her chair, letting out a big puff of air that sounded more like a whistle. "Wow. I mean just wow. This is one fucked-up situation you're in," she hushed, rotating her mug of coffee in her cupped hands. She straightened up and leaned forward. "Why are you not panicking right now?"

Sookie smiled at her.

"You're gonna keep it, aren't you?"

Sookie arched her brow as though the answer should have been a no-brainer.

Hadley beamed, her hand clapped over her mouth to hide her grin. "I'm gonna be an aunt," she said with glazed eyes.

"You're gonna be an aunt," Sookie echoed, as she fought to keep her own tears at bay.

"This is like watching Days of Our Lives, only better," Hadley quipped. "The only thing missing is an evil twin and you're gold!"

Sookie chuckled before she chugged down the rest of her milk.

"Are you gonna tell him?"

Sookie's lips quivered before they curved into another smile. No, it was more like a an excited grin, one that stretched from ear to ear, revealing a shallow dimple on her left cheek.

She glued her eyes to Hadley as she nodded slowly. "I'm gonna tell him today. I already called the diner and told Arlene I still won't be able to come to work," she replied solemnly. "He deserves to know. Even if he doesn't want anything -"

Hadley held up a finger to silence her. "Now you listen to me, Sook," she started in a reproaching tone. "That man had done nothing but try to get you back the minute you came here. He's willing to go Rambo against his grandmother for you. You must have been jacked up on pregnancy juice if you think he's gonna bail out on you when he finds out you're carrying his child."

Sookie bit her lip. She had nothing to say to that. Hadley was right. Eric would go to hell and back for her. There was no question about it.

Sookie opened her mouth to sound off her agreement when their door started buzzing.

"Speak of the devil," Hadley cooed with a wink as she stood up and went to the door before she pressed the intercom button and muttered a curt, "Yeah?"

"I'm here to see Susanna Northman," an unfamiliar male voice blared through the speaker.

Sookie instantly stiffened. Nobody had called her that in two months. A cold finger poked her spine.

Hadley threw her a quizzical look before she turned to the small device on the wall. "Who is it?" she asked nervously.

"My name's Desmond Cataliades, I work for Lilith Northman."

Sookie's suspicion was confirmed. Lilith had tracked her down. She should not have been surprised.

"What's it about?" Hadley inquired again, her tone getting more tensed, defensive.

"I'm here to discuss a few legal matters with Miss Northman. It'll be easier if you let me in." His tone was laced with impatience.

Sookie took a few calming breaths as she strode toward Hadley by the door and clamped on her cousin's shoulder. "Let him in, Had. If I'm gonna have this baby I can't live in fear of Lilith anymore."

Desmond Cataliades, a short, stocky man with receding hairline, seemed more congenial in person. He introduced himself as Lilith's attorney as he took a seat opposite Sookie and Hadley at the dining table.

However, like most of Lilith's associates, it didn't take long before his true colors came to surface. He was Lilith's advocate after all. Even before his peppermint tea had steeped properly he had already summed up the nature of his visit. He was clever enough to try to confuse Sookie with legal jargons. But he had to do better than throw highfalutin words at her to conceal his motive.

"You're trying to buy me off?" Sookie said through gritted teeth, not even trying to hide her vexation.

The middle-aged lawyer in a tan suit coughed loudly before he smoothed the length of his pinstriped tie. "That's one way to put it, yes," he replied bluntly. "Mrs. Northman is willing to go as high as one and a half million if you agree to her terms."

Lilith sent Cataliades to tell Sookie that her grandmother was planning on setting up a trust fund for her. Under certain conditions, of course, that Sookie was not to get within a hundred-mile radius from her or any of her blood kin - meaning Eric or Godric.

"And if I don't take it?" Sookie asked, drilling the attorney with an unblinking glare.

"Mrs. Northman will be forced to file an assault charge against you and you will be summoned and tried in the state of California," he answered in an even tone. "Miss Northman-"

"Stackhouse," she corrected him. She would rather be nameless than accept the appellation.

He nodded tersely. "Miss Stackhouse," he continued in a clipped a tone. "You look like a smart girl. If I were you, I'd take the deal. It's a generous offer and it'll help your cause."

Sookie's heart skipped a beat in fear that Lilith had somehow learned about her pregnancy. She quickly dismissed the notion. It was impossible.

"What do you know about my cause?" she asked with an accusing squint.

He sighed exasperatedly, flattening his tie with his a pat on his chest. "You left your family in Seattle to live here." His deep brown eyes skirted over the interior of their modest apartment with a condescending smirk. "It can't get any more obvious than that. You came here to start anew. That is why I implore you to take the money and let my client provide for you."

Sookie lowered her eyes on the table as she gripped the hem of her purple sundress.

_Hang on_, she begged, _hang in there, please_.

"Miss Stackhouse?" Atty. Cataliades poked.

Hadley kept mum as she studied Sookie's expression. Sookie didn't have to meet Hadley's gaze to tell that her cousin was getting agitated as well, ready to pounce at the pot-bellied lawyer in front of them.

Sookie lifted her eyes back to the attorney. "I won't take it," was her quiet response.

Desmond Cataliades shook his head with a reproaching tsk. "I strongly suggest you think about my proposition carefully, Miss Stackhouse. You do not want to make an enemy of my client. Mrs. Northman can be very convincing. She _will_ find a way to make sure she gets what she wants."

Sookie stayed still. The threats did not surprise her. Right now, she was more concerned with the intense pain that shot up her belly.

_Be still, little one. It'll be over soon. I won't let her hurt you._

"What do you say, Miss Stackhouse?" the lawyer prodded after a brief pause.

"Get out," Sookie spat in a barely discernible voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Get the hell out of here," Sookie repeated, stressing each word through clenched jaw. Hadley was already out of her seat as she bolted to the door. "I'm not for sale. Neither is my dignity. And if I ever see you or any of her flunkies here, I will call the police and charge y'all for harassment. Am I clear?"

The lawyer pursed his lips as he peeled himself off the chair and buttoned his blazer. "You're making a terrible mistake," he offered as he grabbed his black attaché case from the table. Hadley, who had been holding the door wide open, shot him a contemptuous glare before she slammed the door behind him.

Sookie's hands clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white.

"Who needs an evil twin if you have an evil step grandmother, huh?" Hadley quipped as she marched toward the table.

Sookie didn't respond as she kept her head low, her eyes pinched shut.

"Sook?" Hadley asked, a sense of alarm in her voice. "What's wrong?"

Silence.

Sookie counted the seconds in her head. Ticking off the time it would take for the lawyer to go down the three flights of stairs to exit the building.

"Had," she finally choked raising her head and opening her eyes to meet Hadley's, "something's wrong with the baby. I think I need to go to the hospital."

Sookie didn't need to look down on her legs to know she was bleeding as warm, thick liquid gushed out of her, soaking her undergarment.

* * *

_Blink._

She could see Hadley's lips moving but she could understand nothing.

_Blink._

She could feel the map of skin on Hadley's shuddering, ice-cold palm against her temple.

_Blink._

"Sook?" Hadley pinched her shoulder lightly. "Say something, sweetie."

_Blink._

The tubes of fluorescent lights were bright above her. Too bright. She could hear people talking in hushed tones but the noises they were making were deafening. She wished they would shut the hell up. It was making her head throb.

_Blink._

She couldn't feel her legs. _What the hell was wrong with me?_

Hadley waved her hand over her face. "Sook? Can you hear me?"

She tried to nod. The slight movement was all the reaction Hadley needed as she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank God."

"What happened?" She could barely recognize her own croaky voice. How long had she been out? She was parched. She wanted to lift herself up but Hadley's firm hand on her shoulder was keeping her down.

Hadley's chin trembled as she bit her lower lip. The pain in Hadley's eyes was all the answer she needed.

"You lost a lot of blood, Sook," Hadley started gently, softening the blow. "They did an ultrasound and," she paused to strangle another sob, "there was no more heartbeat. I asked them to check again and again but -"

Hadley lost all semblance of control as she broke into sobs, her hand over her mouth.

The numbness went away as it began to sink in. She pinched her eyes shut again willing Hadley away - willing everything to disappear.

_This isn't happening,_ she pleaded mutely.

Halleigh Robinson, the resident gynecologist - a warm Southern woman in her forties with long black hair and hazel eyes - told Sookie what Hadley couldn't.

Dr. Robinson, as calmly as she could, relayed that she had to perform an emergency D&C - dilation and curettage – on her to control the bleeding. She had been given an epidural anesthesia to numb the lower half of her body, which explained the lack of sensation in her legs. The D&C procedure, which removed the remaining tissue in her womb, wasn't invasive but because of Sookie's massive bleeding, she would have to stay overnight for observation.

A few hours ago there was something inside her. A life, waiting to be nurtured. Now, it was nothing but tissue, a lump of crimson flesh that would be poked and studied later in pathology.

Sookie just stared at the doctor. They had all been very consoling. But no amount of comforting words could silence the screaming in her head.

It was all her fault. She had one job and she failed. Her blood was so toxic that it poisoned her own child. She wanted to cry but no tears came. All she could do was lie down and stay still. Like a fucking invalid.

"Do you want me to call Eric?" Hadley asked when the doctor left them in the recovery room.

_Eric_.

She wanted to nod yes. Tell Hadley to call him, 'yes, call him now!' But could she really be so cruel? Could she subject him to the kind of torture she was suffering from, too? What would be the point?

The silence dragged on before she finally shook her head and whispered, "Don't."

Hadley didn't argue. Sookie was thankful for that. Hadley didn't even try to convince her to inform Pam or her mother. She must have understood that it was Sookie's decision to let her family know of her unborn child's demise.

Sookie stayed in the hospital for two days with Dr. Robinson encouraging her to seek counselling. It was pathetic really, how even a stranger could tell she needed professional help.

Arlene Fowler, her employer from the diner, visited her in the hospital and assured her that her job would be waiting for her when she was ready to come back. Arlene gave her a few more days off. She mouthed a soft 'thanks' all the while knowing she would never come back to that restaurant again.

Her life in Brooklyn ended on the operating table.

Sookie couldn't take the pitiful looks and the heavy sighs anymore. She knew they meant well but she was not a charity case. Not for Hadley, for Arlene or most especially for Lilith.

The small person that was half of her and half of him, the one she didn't know existed until last night, had taken residence inside her in more ways than one. She didn't even know if the child would be a he or a she. There was no way to find out now.

_Sorry I wasn't strong enough to keep you._

Lilith found a way to get what she wanted. By sheer chance or by a Faustian bargain, Sookie didn't care anymore. The only thing she was certain of was that the child that gave her the resolve to fight was gone.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Present day…**_

Jogging in the rain seemed like a good idea earlier. Until it wasn't anymore.

Her lungs tightened as she sucked in another deep breath before she turned the corner to her street. The temperature had dropped to a freezing eleven degrees and with her dark gray tracksuit soaked through and through she could barely keep her teeth from chattering.

She took her running shoes off and left them at the welcome mat before she fished for the duplicate key under one of the potted cactuses at the porch. Before she could insert her key, the door swung open making her jump back in fright.

"What the hell were you thinking jogging in the rain!? You know if you hate yourself so much there are sophisticated ways to end your life and catching pneumonia isn't one of them," Pam spat with an arched brow as she pulled Sookie inside the house.

Pam grabbed the brown throw blanket on the sofa and draped it around Sookie's shaking shoulders.

"What're you doing here?" Sookie asked. She wanted to run upstairs to take a steaming hot bath but her sister's hands that were running up and down the length of her arms were keeping her from bolting.

"We're goin' out tonight," Pam replied tersely holding the blanket for her as Sookie peeled her jacket off.

Sookie was starting to warm up as she shimmied out of Pam's grip. Her wet tracksuit was leaving a puddle of water on her freshly-waxed floor. "As much as I'm tempted to go out with you I have a big date with my bathtub tonight."

As soon as she was out of her jogging pants, she took the damp blanket from her sister and wrapped herself with it before she darted upstairs to the bathroom.

Pam, of course, followed her after a few minutes. She knew Sookie wouldn't lock the door as she strolled toward the porcelain sink, wiping the steam off the mirror.

"C'mon Sook, while your so-called husband is still in New York," Pam whined, meeting her gaze through the mirror. "This might be our last chance to hang out, just the two of us."

Sookie rolled her eyes. Pam could be very dramatic. Now that she was back in Seattle, it was only a matter of time before they became inseparable again.

"Plus, I want us to celebrate," Pam added, reapplying her lipstick. For a lesbian, Pam was particularly vain.

"For what?" Sookie asked, untangling her wet hair with her fingers.

Pam pivoted to face her, beaming. "We've been approved! We're havin' a baby! We've already met with the baby momma and she's about to pop any day now!" she blurted, crossing her index- and middle-finger together.

Sookie lit up in an instant, her cheeks rising in delight. "No way!" Sookie exclaimed, sitting upright.

"Way!" Pam volleyed back with a haughty grin. "Oh honey, you might want to sink back in, I can see your tits through the suds. It's enough that one sibling has the hots for you."

Sookie sank in the tub and dropped her gaze, her smile dissolving into a frown.

"What? Too soon?"

Sookie threw her sister a glare.

Pam's hands shot up in surrender, before she gestured to her zip her lips with a lock and key.

After a pregnant lull, Sookie turned back to Pam, who went back to examining her pristine make-up on the wall mirror. "Where are we goin', anyway?"

"At the Tavern," she replied with a mischievous smirk.

"Eric's bar?" Sookie's eyes rounded as she started shaking her head, "Nononono!"

"Oh, relax. It's Eric's night off. He won't be there so you can go on with whatever shitty cat-and-mouse game you two were playing," Pam said with a roll of her eyes. "Besides, it's your bar, too. Remember the money you kept sending me? I saved it up and used it to buy a share in the pub. And before you get your panties all bunched up, no, he doesn't know it's from you. Unless you wanna tell him."

Sookie swallowed hard. She had no intention to lay claim on that bar.

"Can you see the beauty of it?" Pam drawled looking proud of herself. "The Tavern is like the baby you can never have with him."

That statement had hit straight home.

* * *

It took Sookie half an hour to get ready for her date with her sister and Pam took less time than that to drive them to the Tavern.

The pub had a rustic appeal with bare brick walls and upholstered deep red furniture. Three wide plasma televisions were mounted on the wall, one by the liquor bar and two at both ends of the room. It was an homage to Eric's hometown, Chicago, with all the sports memorabilia from the Bulls to the Cubs. There were half-moon sofas beside the wall and at least seven tall round tables scattered all over the place.

It was everything Eric. And she felt instantly at home.

"Sook? Is that really you?" Sam Merlotte asked as soon as she emerged through a pair of swinging saloon doors behind Pam. Her sister waved at Sam before she went straight to the backroom.

"Gimme 15 minutes and I'm all yours, 'kay?" Pam called out to Sookie before she marched to Eric's office to do the initial inventory for the night.

"Sam!" Sookie screeched with a wave. Sam also lived in First Hill, six blocks from Sookie's old residence. She dashed behind the bar to give her old friend a hug.

"Hot damn, cher, you're -" the rest of his sentence got stuck in his throat when he caught sight of the man who just walked in the bar.

Sookie's brows furrowed before she twisted halfway to follow Sam's gaze.

_Eric._

* * *

**A/N: I don't own TB or SVM. **

**A big big thanks to _amandagm, _ for her pro bono work on this fic. All other mistakes are mine. **

**And also to lostinspace, sluggy'smom and toniteweareyoung for their feedback. I'm nervous about this chapter because it's too close to home after I had a miscarriage a couple of years back. **

**Thank you all!**


	11. Chapter 11

_**Present day…**_

The hair at the back of her neck bristled at the sight of him. She hadn't seen him in a week.

It was too soon, yet too long.

_Stop staring_, she berated as she forced herself to look away. She could feel his eyes boring into her as she marched out of the counter and into the first barstool she could find, the one closest to the edge of the curved countertop.

She had two options: she could make an excuse and bolt _or_ do the normal, mature thing and act like an adult. She tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear and squared her shoulder.

_Don't make this awkward. Turn around and say hi._

Summoning enough strength, she plastered one of her fake smiles and pivoted her head to him and said, "Hey," with a feeble wave.

He didn't say a word as he sauntered toward her, his long, tapered fingers strumming on top of the wooden counter.

_Maybe it's not too late to run._

The muscles on his jaw leaped and tensed making her swallow nervously as she recalled all those times she had left a trail of kisses along his jawline. Her thoughts must have been written all over face as a ghost of a smile flickered on his thin lips.

He was at her side before she could look away. The side of his thigh brushed against hers when he sidled up to the metal stool next to hers. It was a conscious effort not to move. Not to flinch. Even when he leaned to her side and his upper arm grazed her shoulder.

He was so damned close. Too close for comfort. Her nostrils flared when she caught a whiff of his scent. Clean, woody and masculine with a hint of alcohol, simply Eric. He was wearing his trademark ensemble of black fitted jeans, black shirt and leather motorcycle jacket. She didn't need to look at his shoes to confirm they were his favorite low cut black boots. Only Eric could pull off an all-black attire and not look like a goth. Even his dark blue arm sling couldn't make him look less attractive. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her faded skinny jeans and plain buttoned-down white blouse and brown leather jacket and knee-high boots.

Eric, still refusing to acknowledge her presence, flicked his finger in the air and Sam came a-running. He turned his head around to scan the area and the girls went a-squirming. He nodded like a superstar jock to some of the male patrons and the testosterone in the air skyrocketed in a flash.

Sookie fought the urge to shake her head and roll her eyes. Eric would always be Eric. It didn't matter how many years had gone by, he could still command a crowd.

"Boss." Sam tipped his head at Eric while wiping the inside of a mug from behind the counter. "Didn't know you're comin' in tonight," his gaze flitting from Eric to Sookie, as though he could sense the palpable tension between the couple, "Pam's already doing the inventory out back."

Eric's lips tugged into a lazy smirk as he drummed his fingers on the polished mahogany. "I'm not here."

Sam nodded his assent.

"Scotch or beer?" the bartender asked, his voice squeaking with tension. She would have laughed if she wasn't nervous herself.

"Scotch. And give her one too." Eric tipped his head toward her. "She looks like she could use some."

_So, I'm not invisible after all. _

"On the rocks or neat, cher?" Sam asked her, placing two heavy glasses on top of the counter. "Or d'you want somethin' else?"

"Neat is fine," she shrugged, darting her head to the narrow hallway leading to the backroom, where Pam had disappeared into. She never should have listened to Pam. Note to self: _kill Pam_.

Sam poured them their identical amber-colored drinks before he scooted to the other end of the counter to greet new customers, leaving the two of them alone in their awkwardness. _Traitor_, Sookie scowled at Sam.

Sam just gave her a slow shrug as apology.

She took a breath before she swiveled toward Eric. "You got your cast off," she started, pointing out the obvious.

He looked down at his cradle sling and shrugged. "Got it off today. I still need to wear the sling for another week, though."

She fixed her eyes on the band strapped around his neck supporting his arm. "Does it still hurt?"

A beat passed as his lips thinned. "Always."

She stilled at his response. She didn't have to be telepath to discern that he wasn't referring to his injury anymore. Silence consumed her as they fell into a stalemate. She turned her gaze back to her glass, cupping it with her trembling hands. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He shrugged as he fixed his gaze on her reflection at the wall mirror behind the liquor shelf. "For what?" he asked lifting his glass to his lips, "for being a coward or for being a bitch?"

Her shoulders drooped. "Eric," she sighed heavily. "Can't we at least try to be civil?"

He tipped the glass lid and sipped before he put it back on the counter. "Right. Civil. How's that working for you?"

She lifted her chin and glowered at his reflection. She might be a bitch but he could also be a pain in the ass. Even at their worst, they were perfect.

Her glare must still possess some sort of power over him as he raised his good arm up and said, "Alright," before he gestured to Sam to refill his glass.

Sookie stared at her untouched drink. Time for some liquid courage. The liquor sure packed up a punch as she felt the alcohol burn her throat.

"Have you been to First Hill yet?" he inquired offhandedly. She stole a glimpse in his direction and caught him smirking when she winced at the sting of the scotch. _Jerk_.

"Nope." She shook her head. "I've called my mom though. To thank her for the cleaning crew she _didn't_ send over," she drawled, giving him a pointed look. It was his turn to avoid her eyes as he took another gulp from his freshly topped up glass. She smiled in satisfaction. "I knew you sent them, Eric. Thank you."

He swirled his glass and snorted. "Well someone has to do the cleaning. If it were up to you that house would still be a dump."

"Hey!" she yelped as the back of her hand hit his upper arm before she could stop herself. He turned to her sharply, eyebrow cocked in a mix of surprise and amusement.

"Sorry," she mumbled dropping her gaze. "Force of habit."

His lips twisted into a cocky grin.

She rolled her eyes, thrusting her chin out. "For your information," she tipped her glass to him, "I _do_ know how to clean now. And cook too."

* * *

**E/S**

_**Three years ago. After her miscarriage…**_

The day after she was discharged from the hospital, she resigned from the diner and packed her things. Twenty-one years of existence reduced into a small suitcase. No heavy lifting for at least a month, Dr. Robinson had told her. She was supposed to come back to see the OB-GYN after a week for a follow-up. But she was a long way from Brooklyn by then.

She said her goodbyes to Hadley and took the bus to Manchester, New Hampshire, where Claudine Crane - a friend of her deceased grandmother, Adele - owned a Bed & Breakfast.

Claudine was her gran's best friend, who moved from the South to the North when her husband passed away almost a decade ago. The raven-haired beauty had always been fond of the Stackhouse sisters every time they would visit their gran in Louisiana.

The sweet old woman in her sixties was living with her sister Claudette, an old maid in her late fifties, and together the siblings managed a quaint B&B in the highlands of New Hampshire.

Claudine took one look at Sookie and pulled her in a teary hug before she welcomed Sookie to her new home. Claudine gave her one of the rooms on the third floor of the triple decker inn.

The Crane sisters kept to themselves. They didn't ask why Sookie left Seattle and she didn't offer any explanation either. The Cranes were just glad that Sookie went to them when she did. Claudine and Claudette, who both had dark hair with gray streaks and mesmerizing gray eyes, had the warmth of true Southern women and the quiet elegance that reminded Sookie of her grandmother.

Sookie earned her keep by working the front of the house, cleaning rooms and preparing meals for the guests. Bed and Breakfast brought so many memories and she held on to the good ones like they were her lifeline.

She learned how to cook through Claudette, who taught her that a woman should be able to cook at least one dish flawlessly. Not to impress men, but as a part of her arsenal. Sookie liked the sound of that and before she knew it she was whipping up a perfect Hollandaise for the Benedicts.

The hospitality business was doing well, especially in the winter when yuppies or young honeymooners from Boston and New York stay at the inn for a ski holiday. It kept her busy and tired to the bone. Sookie embraced the exhaustion. It was only when she was physically worn out that she could mentally shut down.

Although she was still reeling from the loss of her unborn child, she didn't want to give Claudine and Claudette something to worry about. She wouldn't be a burden. Not to anyone.

She might be able to escape reality with conscious effort. But not when she succumbed to slumber.

Her dreams were always plagued with Eric and a baby with bright blue eyes - the exact shade as his father's.

The baby was always a boy. He had his eyes, her nose, his lips and their golden hair. He was perfect.

And when he smiled she swore it was like looking at mini Eric. The sound of his giggles was like soft chimes in the wind, extremely contagious. She would wake up with renewed vigor and she knew she'd be untouchable for the rest of the day.

There were also times when she'd dream of him weeping. His cries - like staccato hiccups – could turn Sookie into a psychopath. She would immediately be engulfed by an unadulterated urge to strangle someone with a piano wire because her child was miserable.

She was a mother who never was.

She knew it would only be a matter of time before she imploded. That was when she started writing her 'dream letters'.

Pam still provided her comic relief with her impeccable sarcasm. She would call her sister once every two weeks from a disposable cell and she would fill Sookie everything about home and, of course, Eric. She would also speak briefly to her mother as they talk about something mundane. Michelle, unlike Pam, knew that she was staying with the Cranes. It was the only way she could convince her mother she was safe. Her mother insisted on sending her checks every month to help her financially. She would cash the checks as soon as they arrived and put the money in a separate account – one she never used. The Crane sisters, aside from the free board and lodging, paid her a small wage for her duties in the B&B. She accepted them knowing full well it was futile to say no to Southern ladies. They also let her keep the tips the guests left.

Life at the North was simple and quiet. And she needed that kind of inner peace.

Then winter came.

Her first and only winter in New Hampshire could rival that of Winterfell. The biting wind could make her curse like a woman possessed and the sight of the thick layers of snow outside could turn her into a nasty bitch.

Eric would have loved the weather in New England. She recalled how often she had teased him about his thick Siberian blood and how he would counter it by telling her he would send her off to Florida the minute she turned forty.

She missed him so much. She missed him like she missed the sun on her back.

December snuck in on her like an old enemy. And before she could channel her inner Grinch, Claudette was already dragging her all over Manchester to get Christmas decorations for the inn.

The week before the 25th, Sookie took the bus to Massachusetts to do her Christmas shopping. She bought her mother and Godric a snow globe, Hadley, a purse and the Crane siblings, a set of matching scarves and gloves. (God knows they needed those to survive the winter.)

The most expensive present she bought was an Italian cashmere cardigan for Pam. It cost her three months of salary but it was worth it.

She got Eric his favorite label of cologne. She bought two – one for him and one for her. She would spritz some on her pillow and a little on the inside of her wrists. She was like a junkie and his scent was her fix.

She boxed up the gifts and mailed it to Hadley in Brooklyn along with enough cash to ship the presents to Seattle.

The days passed by and while Sookie was contented living a serene life with the Crane sisters – away from Lilith or anyone who knew of her past - she felt that she was ready to move forward.

Her shot at a better employment came in the form of Luna Garza, one of their guests who stayed at the inn that Christmas. Luna, who was surveying the B&B for her next event, complimented Sookie for her intricate arrangement of poinsettia. Luna offered her a side job as decorator for the white wedding she was planning in January and Sookie jumped at the opportunity to showcase her skills. Luna was so impressed with her uncanny attention to detail that she offered her a full-time job as decorator for her social events in Manhattan.

Sookie didn't know if she was ready to go back to New York. Claudine, intuitive like her gran, must have felt her apprehension and decided to put in her two cents.

"Adele had nothing but high hopes for you and your sister, Sookie," Claudine had told her. "Just because something happened in your past doesn't mean you can let it dictate your future."

She came back to New York the following week without telling Pam or Hadley. Not just yet. Not until she was back on her feet again.

Sookie lived and breathed her job. Her non-existent social life catapulted her from a lowly decorator to assistant event coordinator in only three months.

That was when she decided to tell her sister, who was still harassing her to come back to Seattle. Pam couldn't hide her excitement through the phone when she learned of Sookie's new career.

"At least I don't have to lie about your job when people ask me what you're doing in New York," Pam snarked.

Sookie wired the money her mother had been sending her to Pam. One of them had to get a degree, Sookie told her sibling over the phone. Pam didn't take much convincing and she used some of Sookie's savings to buy plane tickets for her and Miriam when they visited her in Manhattan that spring.

Months dragged on but she somehow managed to get by. She got a one-bedroom apartment in lower Manhattan. The rent was ridiculously high but it was only walking distance to her office. She would meet Hadley once a week and they would chat like rabid teenagers just like old times.

A year went down and then came Bill. It was a chance meeting when he turned out to be a groomsman in one of the weddings she was organizing.

Seeing Bill was like a blow to the gut. She ran away from home to get away from all the guilt, the pain and disappointments. And Bill reminded her of all those things. She would have bolted if she wasn't afraid she would lose her job. Bill wanted to take her out for coffee and it was like she had crawled out of her own skin and watched herself nod yes.

It was surprisingly a lot easier to face Bill. He was, after all, a mere acquaintance. Someone who couldn't make her fall apart like Eric could.

They went to the café near the reception and he gave her updates on Lilith. He told her that the silver-haired matriarch was walking with a crane now, which made her look more intimidating (and regal) than before. Sookie couldn't even pretend to care.

Bill stayed in Manhattan for three more days before he went back to Los Angeles although Sookie only met with him once. He made Sookie promise that the next time he was in town they would have dinner together. She agreed halfheartedly knowing at the back of her mind that there wouldn't be a next time.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Present day…**_

"Did you know that the word whiskey was from the word 'usquebaugh' meaning water of life? Then they shortened it to usky before it became whiskey?" she told Lafayette - one of the kitchen staff - as he topped up Eric's glass. She knew she was on the wrong side of inebriated when she started spewing her did-you-knows to someone she barely knew.

Eric was in the men's room when Sam introduced Lafayette to Sookie. Lafayette, the gay version of Whoopie Goldberg, was pure delight with his rainbow jokes.

"Oh, sugah, it's a good thing you're hot because this nerdy vibe you have goin' is not sexy at all," Lafayette quipped, waving his palm in her face.

She laughed before she downed the rest of her drink. It was her second. And she no longer had the urge to hiss at the sting of the alcohol. Pam had checked on her after she had downed her first drink but retreated back to the supply room when she spied Eric.

Lafayette kept her company until he was summoned by a petite bottle-blonde woman called Ginger back to the kitchen. Lafayette blew Sookie a kiss when he made his exit.

Her glass made a hollow thud when it hit the wooden counter. She spun her head toward the other end of the bar where Sam was mixing cocktails for a group of women in expensive-looking suits. The way the women flipped their hair dramatically and flashed their iPhones like Steve Jobs' groupies were screaming Apple Store whore.

It was bad enough that the jazz background music wasn't loud enough to drown their conversation, Sookie had to overhear one of them saying she'd be going home with the 'hot blonde with the sling' tonight.

_Good luck with that, _she thought grimly before she could stop herself.

She waved at Sam, pointing at her empty glass. Sam held up a finger and mouthed, 'one minute'. Sam looked like a headless chicken as he fumbled at the shelf, searching frantically for the right concoction of liquor. Her lips curved into a devious grin, deciding to play with Sam a bit to ease his anxiety.

Pressing her palms against the counter, she pushed herself up from her high stool and yelled, "Hey, who do I need to sleep with to get a drink around here!"

"That'd be me," a husky voice whispered behind her making her freeze.

Her cheeks blazed as she sank back in her chair to find Eric staring at her with his lopsided smirk.

She swallowed as she grabbed his glass and raised it to her lips.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Sam giggling soundlessly on the other side and she suppressed the urge to flip him the bird.

"You were saying?" Eric crooned, prying his glass from her stiff fingers.

"Shut up," she managed to spit out, keeping her eyes on the counter. God, she must have sounded like an idiot.

He chuckled, spinning his glass until he found the faint trace of her lipstick on the lid. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips before he took a long sip of whiskey right where her lipstick smeared.

He was toying with her. And damned if it wasn't working.

Sam, mercifully, came and refreshed her glass. After a big gulp she was back in the game.

Soon she was laughing out loud again when Eric began sassing Sam for his subpar bartending skills.

"It's a good thing he's good at kissing my ass or I would have fired him on his first week," Eric said with a barking chuckle as he turned to Sam's direction, "Just look at the man," he said tipping his glass to the hapless bartender, who barely caught the cocktail shaker he flipped in the air, "no wonder he's not getting laid."

"Excuse me!" Sam turned to them with an indignant huff, "I can hear you!"

Eric flipped his hand dismissively. "You're right. We'll trash you later."

Sookie tittered, more like coughed as she choked on her drink. Eric rubbed the length of her back seemingly out of reflex. It took all her control not to go rigid at the gesture.

_Friends could comfort each other, right?_

It was a soothing ministration, one without malice or bitterness. She liked that. She wouldn't mind hacking the whole night if she could have the doting Eric back again.

When her coughing subsided, he quickly reached for his heavy glass and tapped it with Sookie's making a clinking chime. It was her third while Eric was on his fourth. She could sure hold her scotch, but she was still a lightweight compared to Eric.

Sookie grinned at him. "You see, we can be civil," she pointed out before she asked another waitress, Holly, for a glass of water.

His lips tugged into a rueful smirk. "Don't be so sure. The night's still young," he jested, throwing her a sideway glance.

She couldn't help but mirror his smirk that eventually broke into a toothy grin. They must have looked like a couple of buffoons with their matching loony expression.

Then as if on cue Peabo Bryson's melodious voice cut through the air replacing the soft jazz music.

'_If ever you're in my arms again, this time…' _

Sookie and Eric's heads snapped at Sam at the same time, throwing identical glare at the bartender.

Sam's arms shot up to the air in a comical gesture of I-didn't-do-it.

Pam's shrill giggle rang as she ducked her head out from the backroom, taking immense pleasure from her prank.

Sookie grabbed a piece of olive from the bowl under the counter and hurled it at her sister, who quickly slammed the door behind her.

The cheesy background music stopped at once but the furtive looks from the other barflies were enough to make her blush.

She quickly excused herself to go to the ladies' room, where she splashed cold water on her face and thanked all that was holy that the powder room was a single stall. _If I could survive this night, I would be able to get through everything_, was her mantra.

She marched out of the comfort room, considerably comforted.

"You know, I saw you on TV once," Eric said casually, starting the ball rolling.

She arched her brow as she propped herself up in the stool. "Oh?"

He bobbed his head. "You were sitting courtside and the camera zoomed in on you when you leaped out of your chair and yelled when D-Rose dunked in Melo's face. I remembered the announcer saying '_there seems to be a traitor on the Knicks' bench, Kenny_.'" His voice dropped low, mimicking the commentator's voice.

She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth, mortified beyond words, remembering how she cheered for Derrick Rose of the Chicago Bulls while she was sitting on the side of the New York Knicks.

She could feel him staring and she couldn't help but chortle. "Y'know they almost threw me out of the Garden for doing that? The entire Knicks' bench was looking at me like _'what the hell, bitch?'_"

Eric guffawed, tapping the counter with his palms. "And I must say, you are not photogenic," he teased.

"Jerk!" she shrieked with a grin, smacking his chest playfully.

Eric caught her wrist and her gaze, making her breath hitch. "Only because I know you're prettier in person."

_Shit._

Her heart thumped as the moment screeched to a halt.

_Dammit, Eric, why do you have to ruin it by saying something so sickeningly sweet?_

Fortunately, he let go of her wrist before she could start hyperventilating. And they fell into another companionable silence.

He cleared his throat and faced her again. "I never got to thank you for the gifts," he said, changing the topic. "Thanks. I loved them."

She took a deep breath, her pulse returning to normal as she forced another shrug. "Yeah, well. I'm glad you loved them because I still have a restraining order from Phil Jackson."

His brow shot up to his forehead, his mouth forming into an O. "Y'mean you got the book signed yourself?"

"What do you think?" she volleyed back with mock offense. "I stalked him when he was in New York. Told him I was a big fan."

"You were?" he cooed.

"As a matter of fact, I am. And it's your fault," she jabbed a finger at him, "You practically have a shrine for him. From the moment we met, all you could talk about was how great the Bulls were and how Jackson's triangle offense was the best thing to happen in NBA. I never really stood a chance; your love for the Bulls rubbed off on me."

He was grinning from ear to ear, running the pad of his thumb across his lower lip. She could hear her heart was pounding in her ear. She had forgotten how charming he could be if he wanted.

"How about Bill's love for the Lakers?" he poked "I know he's still a Laker."

She crinkled her nose in disgust. "I will never be a Laker," she answered automatically locking her eyes with his. "I hate Los Angeles."

That statement could have never been more sincere. If she could help it, she would never return to that damned place _ever_ again.

"Yet you married one," he sighed.

There was something in his tone that hit something bigger than a nerve. It wasn't anger or resentment, more like a quiet surrender. And it bothered her even more than his bitterness. What was wrong with her? Wasn't that what she wanted, to have a normal relationship with Eric? Why did it hurt when it sounded like he was giving up? God, she was hopeless.

She saw him slouch, his elbow resting on top of the counter. "You know when I asked you to marry me; I said I'll always be here for you. _Always_," he said, fixing his eyes on the glass he was spinning slowly. "I still mean it. Even if I'm not your always."

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric.**

**Next chapter is still Sookie's POV. Thank you so much for sending me your thoughts. I appreciate them all. **

**A huge shout out to the awesome **_**amandagm**_**. She also writes about our favorite couple! All other mistakes are mine.**


	12. Chapter 12

_**Present day…**_

"_You know when I asked you to marry me; I said I'll always be here for you. Always," he said, fixing his eyes on the glass he was spinning slowly. "I still mean it. Even if I'm not your always."_

She caught his wrist, stilling its movement. He looked up and his face softened when he saw her chin quiver to suppress a sob. She wanted to tell him he _was_ her always. Tell him she didn't marry Bill for love but for convenience. But before she could utter a single word Pam burst through the hallway, the office door bouncing against the wall in the wake of her abrupt exit.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh god!" Pam chanted excitedly as she marched toward the counter, the spiky heels of her red pumps clicked wildly against the black-and-white chessboard tiles. Her hand that was gripping her mobile phone was shaking as she stretched it to Sookie. "It's time!" she exclaimed. "Amelia's water broke! She's on her way to the hospital! We have to go. Miriam will meet us at Seattle Gen."

Sookie stole a glance at Eric and her heart clenched when he looked away.

* * *

**E/S**

_**One and a half years ago…**_

The past had a way of sneaking up on her like a virus.

That virus was Bill Compton.

Just when she thought she had seen the last of him she was proven wrong when he came back two months after their chance encounter. She dodged him like a bullet but that didn't stop him from coming back the following month and the month after that. Although she wasn't seeing anyone, she remained blissfully dense when it came to Bill's not-so-subtle courtship.

"It's been more than a year, Sookie. Don't you think you've punished yourself enough?" Bill asked her when he managed to corner her in her office and invited her to lunch.

"I'm not punishing myself, Bill. This is me moving on," she lied through her teeth. It was the same argument she had with him four years ago when she visted Lilith in Los Angeles.

It had been more than a year since she had lost Eric and their child but she still hadn't recovered. Maybe there was no moving on from that kind of loss. Eric was her past and her child was her future – their future. She only had her present and Bill was robbing her of that too.

Eric had stopped calling her and she thought she had succeeded in helping him move on. The only problem was, he might have let her go, but she hadn't. She couldn't.

It was Eric's 26th birthday when she completely lost it. She had spoken with Pam that week and she told her that Eric would be spending his birthday at the French Riviera. After their New York trip five years before when they were still dating, they had planned on going to Cote d'Azur for their next trip. She was supposed to be with him. Not some floozy he picked up from some shithole.

She went out that night with the sole intention of drowning her sorrow. She turned to old reliable Jose Cuervo and after she downed half the bottle, Joe claimed her sanity.

Wasted as she was, she came to a decision to give Eric a piece of her mind. She was never one for drunk calls but she was enraged, irrational and inebriated enough to do just that. The only problem was instead of calling Eric she accidentally pressed Bill's number. It was an excusable mistake considering Eric's name was listed under A. Eric, so he'd be the first on her contacts and Bill was, well, under B. Compton.

She couldn't remember her exact words, only that she used the words hate and love in one breath more than once. Without realizing she had been lashing out on the wrong bastard, she hung up the phone and went back to finish what she started with Joe. Terry the barkeep, who was moonlighting for most of Sookie's events, instinctively called the last number she dialed when Sookie left her phone (but not her bottle) on the counter when she went to the ladies room. Terry gave Bill the address of the watering hole and Bill, like a knight in shining armor, swooped in and took her back to his loft because he didn't know where she lived.

She didn't know how it happened but when she opened her eyes, she could only see sapphire eyes and golden hair. She murmured apologies and told him she loved him. _I never stopped_, she whispered. _I don't think I could_, she sobbed.

Bill didn't say anything as he laid her down on his bed. _Say something, Eric_, she yelled as she tugged at his collar.

He pried his shirt out her fingers as he spat, "I'm not Eric!" then as though to drive his point home, he sealed his lips with hers to shut her up.

She wanted so much to blame it on the booze when she didn't push Bill away and let him kiss her. She realized she was tired from pushing everyone away. She had been alone for so long that she couldn't remember the last time she wasn't.

She just closed her eyes and imagined someone else's hands gliding all over her body.

Bill whispered something in her ear but she turned her head away. If Bill started murmuring then the spell would be broken and she would know for certain he wasn't Eric.

She slept with Bill that night and the next morning she slipped out of his loft feeling more horrible than she had felt in years.

She started seeing Bill a few weeks after they had slept together. He was unrelenting and she was exhausted. He had worn her down.

It was unfair. To her, to Eric and to Bill. But fairness was only an illusion –a myth that some people held onto to keep their hopes alive.

They were like those old couples who were stuck in a rut. Funny, because she and Bill were supposed to be at their honeymoon stage. The second time she slept with Bill was three months later. She was again drunk thirteen ways to Wednesday. That was the only way she could digest his kisses. Those were the only times she could numb herself enough to let herself believe she was being taken by someone who was miles away from her. She would shut her eyes and bite her lip to stop herself from screaming a different name out loud.

She had managed to keep up her act for a while until two months ago, when in the middle of their rump a name slipped out her lips like a plea.

'_Eric.'_

Two syllables that caused Bill to stiffen and pull out of her. She had never seen someone get dressed that quickly as Bill ran out of his own loft, slamming the door behind him.

She trudged out of his place that night, thinking that it would be the final straw for Bill.

But it wasn't. A week after her Freudian slip, Bill went to her apartment, calm but desolate.

"I'm at the end of my rope," he started. "You told me you'll give us a chance."

"I told you I'd try," she tried to reason.

"Try harder."

"I'm so sorry, Bill," she hushed in defeat. There were no more words to say, she was a despicable person for using Bill and her actions were inexcusable.

"Marry me," he blurted.

"What?"

"I know you want to come home. I heard you talking to Pam the other day, she wants to adopt with Miriam and you told her you'd come home if you could. You want to be with your family." He didn't say _his_ name. There was an unspoken rule never to utter _his_ name. And she broke that rule.

"I can't. Not while Lilith's still alive." Lilith had stopped hounding her when she left Brooklyn after her miscarriage. She knew Lilith was still keeping tabs on her and the only reason she had left her alone was because she hadn't made contact with Eric.

She was almost certain that as soon as she boarded a plane to Seattle, Lilith would release the hounds again. The statute of limitations on assault had already passed and Lilith was no longer suitable to file a civil charge against her. She wasn't scared of Lilith in the first place. But she was afraid of what Lilith would do to Pam or her mother. Or worse, to Eric. The spiteful old hag might not be capable of hurting her precious grandson but that was something Sookie couldn't leave to chance.

"Let me be your alibi," Bill answered with steely resolve. "Marry me and you can go back to Seattle and show Lilith you're over him." Bill still refused to say his name.

She shook her head.

"You have no life here, Sookie!" he bellowed as he gripped her arms and shook her hard her teeth chattered. "Can't you see? You're letting her win. Stop being a fucking martyr and get your life back. He had no problem moving on, why can't you?"

His words were like knives to her chest. Pam had been keeping her updated on Eric's love life or the lack thereof. He had flings every now and then but no one stuck around for second dates, until a few months ago when he started seeing Nora. The slut was a chef at Lilith's restaurant, Pam informed her. She was by far the longest relationship Eric had after Sookie.

She wanted to ask Pam more about Nora but she was a coward and she wasn't sure she would be able to handle the torture if her sister told her Eric was serious with Nora. How could she pass judgment on Eric and the slut he was dating when she had been seeing Bill for a while now? Hypocrisy must be her middle name.

"I can't love you," she whispered to Bill as she sagged in his arms.

Her brutal honesty made Bill's fingers tightened around her arms, his teeth grinding so hard they squeaked. "Try," he gritted.

His fingers left bruises on her arms. The bruises would fade but his proposal never would. He came back after a couple of days asking her the same question. And she gave him the same answer.

"What would you get out of this, Bill?" she inquired the fourth time he proposed when he came to pick her up from work. If there was anything she learned from Lilith it was to question everything.

"You," he answered without missing a beat. "I'd get to have you."

"No, Bill. You won't."

He didn't offer a rebuttal as he flashed a gentleman smile and walked out the door only to come back the next day and the day after that. Bill could be very tenacious. And on the fourteenth time he asked her, she finally said yes.

* * *

**E/S **

_**Present day…**_

Sookie could only watch as her sister frantically dash through the emergency room in search for Amelia Broadway's room. Amelia was the teenager from Philadelphia, who would make Pam and Miriam's dream of parenthood come true.

"Pam slow down, you're makin' me dizzy," Sookie said as she hooked her arm around Pam's.

"I can't. There are still so many things we haven't ticked off our checklist. I haven't installed the car seat yet. What if they don't let me have the baby because of that?" Pam mumbled in a hurry, looking left and right to check the room numbers of the wide corridor that smelled distinctly of antiseptic.

Eric was two steps behind the sisters and Sookie didn't have to turn around to see his gaze was trained on her.

"Calm down. Y'know, if Amelia sees you panicking like this she might change her mind," Sookie teased. She realized her joke was in poor taste as Pam shot her a withering glare. "Sorry, sorry. But if it'll help you relax, I'll install the car seat for you. And we'll check off everything on that list as soon as Miriam gets here."

Pam arched her brow incredulously at Sookie, a smile creeping at the corner of her red lips. "You? Install the car seat? Oh please. My left hand has more skills than you." And Pam was a rightie.

Eric snorted derisively behind them and it took all her control not to smack him at the chest.

"_I'll_ put the car seat for you," Eric butted in, falling into step with her.

Sookie rolled her eyes at him, but the slight tug on her lips was betraying her.

He could make fun of her all he wanted, she was only glad he was talking to her again. That was progress.

They found Amelia in the recovery room. Apparently she was already on her way to the hospital when her water broke because she had been having contractions at regular intervals. Smart girl, Sookie thought. The delivery was quick and swift. She hardly went into labor, which was a huge relief.

The baby, a seven-pound boy with green eyes, was taken to the nursery to be cleaned and prepped before Pam could see him. Miriam arrived shortly after they did and when the woman from the adoption agency came in, Sookie and Eric knew it was time to make themselves scarce.

They were still a bit tipsy from a few fingers of whiskey they had from the Tavern. They opted for vendo-machine coffee because the cafeteria was already closed for the night as they waited for Pam at the visitors' lounge. They found an empty three-seat metal bench at the waiting room and they took the seats at the both ends.

"Do you know if they have a name yet?" Eric asked when the silence became too stifling.

She shrugged. "They don't have a car seat yet. What do you think?" she quipped with a tight smile.

He sighed, squaring his shoulder, and leaned against the metal back of the bench. "That baby will be spoiled rotten."

She chuckled in agreement. "Pam kept nagging me to get onesies that only Brangelina's kids wear. As if I know what the hell that was."

His hearty laugh filled the room. "Doesn't she know you don't 'ship' Brangelina?" he mocked dryly, using air quotes to use Pam's vernacular. He really knew her well. After Brad Pitt left Jennifer Aniston for Angelina she swore she would never watch _Girl, Interrupted_ again.

She was jolted back to the present when she heard the unmistakable heels click-clacking of Pam's heels on the floor. She turned her head around the same time Eric did.

Sookie froze when she recognized the woman with dark hair and green eyes wearing a white lab coat walking side by side with Pam.

_Dr. Robinson!_

Her head pivoted as she curled her fingers around the paper cup.

Eric remained seated, throwing her a bemused glance.

_Breathe_, Sookie commanded herself, _three years is a long time._

She flashed Eric a fake smile as she stood up and turned back to the incoming tandem.

Pam was beaming as she pointed a finger at her. "Doc, this is my sister and -"

"Sookie?"

Going incognito was no longer an option when the female doctor immediately recognized her.

"Sookie, right?" Dr. Robinson repeated when Sookie remained mute.

She could feel the blood leaving her face when the gynecologist, who did the emergency D&C on her three years ago, looked at her expectantly.

Pam's smile faltered as she turned to the doctor then to Sookie. "You know my sister?"

Three sets of eyes were glued to her as they waited for a response. But it was Eric's gaze Sookie was most scared to meet. She was afraid he would see what she was hiding by a mere stare.

"Dr. Robinson," she forced her voice to lilt with faux excitement, extending her hand to the woman, who could expose her secret any second. "What're you doing in Seattle?" She could feel her eyes twitching as she kept her gaze on the doctor.

"I moved my practice here a year ago," the physician replied. "How about you? I haven't seen you in," she paused as she did a mental count, "three years?"

Sookie swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "I live here. Pam's my sister." She didn't want to dwell much on the time frame, knowing it would only be a matter of time before Eric or Pam could piece things together.

"Oh," Dr. Robinson replied. "I thought the woman who brought you in was your sister."

_Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!_ _What was so special about my case that you still remember every miniscule detail about me?_

Sookie gave the doctor an apologetic smile. "No. That was my cousin, Hadley. Are you the one who delivered Amelia's baby?" she deflected immediately.

"What did you treat her for?" Eric cut in suspiciously, his eyes flitting between Sookie and the chatty doctor.

Dr. Robinson turned to Eric and her eyes lit up like light bulbs.

_Shit._

If Eric started using his charm to his advantage then all bets would be off.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Robinson sighed with seemingly genuine regret, "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

The doctor's cell phone buzzed in her lab coat as if on cue and she excused herself with Pam trailing her at the nurses' station.

Sookie took a big gulp from her cup and instantly regretted it when she burned her tongue.

"How did you know her?" Eric asked without preamble, his eyes inscrutable.

"Vagina stuff," she said with an offhanded shrug, trying to spook him with the use of the V-word.

His eyes narrowed, drilling her. Knowing Eric, he would never buy her ambiguity. She could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head. He was a wolf. He could smell fear in the air and right now, Sookie was sweating with fright.

Luckily, Pam strolled back to the waiting room to rescue her.

Or so she thought.

"I need to talk to you," Pam spat in a lethal tone before she tugged at Sookie's wrist, pulling her away from Eric. Her coffee almost spilled if she hadn't secured the cup with a steady grip.

Pam dragged her to the end of the hallway, making a sharp turn toward the line of vendo machines until she found an empty corner beside the room that said 'Staff Only', far from Eric's scrutinizing glare.

"Doc Robinson asked me to give you this," Pam started in a low voice as she shoved a calling card in her palm. "It's a grief counselor."

Sookie stared at the card for a moment.

"Would you like to tell me why she thought you'd need that?"

"Pamela," Sookie hushed exasperatedly, using an old trick to silence her sister.

"Don't Pamela me," Pam stressed, stabbing a finger at her. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Sookie stayed still, not giving anything away. This wasn't the time nor the place for this conversation. Not when Eric was only a few meters away.

"Did you have a miscarriage while you were in New York?" Pam asked with a penetrating squint.

Sookie pursed her lips and kept her face blank, refusing to respond.

"Did you, Sookie?" Eric's voice came from behind her making her breath hitch.

She blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that were threatening to swell.

He moved in front of her, his eyes piercingly cold, invading the space Pam was occupying. "She said three years ago," Eric echoed the doctor's words. "Were you pregnant when you went to New York?"

Pam's lips parted as she gasped, as though she had just uncracked the code.

"Were you?" He loomed over Sookie with a stone cold expression.

Sookie gnashed her teeth together. Traitorous tears were biting the corners of her eyes.

Eric took that as a yes.

He swallowed hard, taking half a step back, recoiling from her. "Was it mine?" he asked, his tone strained to an almost inaudible hush.

Her chest heaved as she tucked her bottom lip under her teeth to strangle a sob. This wasn't how she wanted Eric to find out. Then again, there seemed to be no appropriate time.

"Yes," she whispered.

Eric's shoulder sagged as he took a couple of steps back swaying on his feet as though someone had knocked the air out of him.

Pam clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle another gasp.

"Eric," Sookie breathed, reaching out to touch him.

He began shaking his head. "Why – why didn't you tell me?" he mumbled haltingly.

She blinked and the tears she had been trying to dispel desperately spilled. "I didn't -" she choked, "I didn't want to tell you because -"

"Because what?" He raised his eyes to her and she almost thought she would freeze and break like ice. "Because you thought I couldn't handle it? Or that I'd leave you? Or was it because you thought I wasn't good enough?"

All she could do was shake her head.

"Were you even planning on telling me?"

Her silence was all the answer he needed. With a final stabbing look at her, he spun on his heel and left.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric.**

**Sorry this took longer than I wanted. **

**Thank you for reading and leaving thoughtful remarks! I appreciate the support!**

**A big shout out to the awesome _amandagm, _who took time off from writing her own fic to give this a looksie. She's on FF, too. Look her up! All other mistakes are mine. **


	13. Chapter 13

Fuck five stages.

Denial was her thing so he skipped that and went straight to anger. It was his fucking specialty.

"Get out of the way jackass!"

He heard a cab driver yell at him while he was crossing the road to the taxi stand. He kept walking at a brisk pace, paying no mind to the loud honking that was directed at him. He dared anyone to get within strangling distance of him. Luckily – more for them than for him—no one did.

He didn't know how he got back to the Tavern without breaking anyone's jaw. Even with one working arm, he was certain he could do so much damage.

Sam gave him a nervous nod from behind the bar when he stormed inside the pub. Pam must have given the barkeep a head's up because he didn't say a peep when Eric hissed, "Close up and call Tray. Tell him I'll be there in half an hour."

"Do you want me to drive you?"

He paused for a second as he contemplated Sam's offer before he nodded yes and stalked into his office at the back of the bar.

He had to make a phone call first.

* * *

**E/S**

His fist landed on the dangling heavy bag with a muffled thud. He gritted his teeth as he rolled his shoulder and swung again. The skin on his knuckles flared up in seconds. It would be a thousand times worse in the morning. That was the price he had to pay for picking a fight with a hundred-pound inanimate object with bare knuckles. He was glutton for punishment. That he knew for sure.

He could feel Tray and Sam's eyes boring into his skull. They must be deliberating which psychiatric ward to sign him into. Could he blame them? He was the village idiot. And it took one long distance call to New York for him to realize what a deadbeat he was.

* * *

"I know about the baby," was all he said when he heard Hadley's sleepy voice through the other line. Forgoing any form of pleasantries like a simple hello or even a faux I'm-sorry-did-I-wake-you-up-bullshit. He had no time for niceties, especially to Sookie's partner-in-crime.

There was a pause as he heard Hadley cough to clear her throat. He was tempted to ask Hadley what a concoction of lies tasted like.

"How?" she managed to ask.

"Does it matter?" He had no doubt Hadley could feel his rage all the way to her squalid loft in Brooklyn.

"Did she tell you how it happened?"

"Does it matter?" he repeated, clenching his jaw. He didn't know why he was calling Hadley when he knew she would only cover up for Sookie. It was probably because it was easier to intimidate her cousin. Maybe with a little persuasion he would be able to squeeze out the truth from her. Maybe then he could get the closure he knew Sookie wouldn't give him.

"She never told you how she lost the baby," Hadley breathed out. It wasn't a question but a statement. He detected a hint of disapproval in her tone. Disapproval for what? Weren't they the ones conspiring to hide the truth from him?

* * *

The heavy bag made a baritone thud when he slammed his fist into it, blood trickling from his fist and onto the blue mat. His left arm would be out of commission for two weeks and he was already keen on breaking his other hand. But try as he might he couldn't stop. He needed a target for all the impotent anger coursing through his body.

"_She was gonna tell you," Hadley whispered, her voice breaking. "She was so happy, Eric. I've never seen her so excited since the day I found her standing behind my door looking for a place to stay. But then that lawyer showed up and threatened to sue her if she ever tried to contact you again."_

Hadley didn't need to tell him the name of the lawyer. There was only one person Lilith would trust to do the dirty work for her.

Desmond Cataliades.

Eric was no longer a swinging a jab at a punching bag. He was imagining someone else's jaw. Someone else's chest. Someone else's groin. He would break Lilith's attorney piece by fucking piece. The way that bastard broke Sookie. He threw another furious thwack. Desmond Cataliades had never lost a single case. It was time to remedy that, Eric thought as he hefted his arm in the air for another blow.

"_I told her to tell you what happened. But she was scared," Hadley said in a hushed tone. "She was scared of _you_. She was afraid you'd be mad at her. That you'd blame her for losing your child. I take it from your tone that she wasn't entirely wrong, was she? But before you go off on her, Eric, let me tell you it wasn't easy for her. It had never been easy for her. She almost died. She kept losing blood that one of the nurses went out and asked me if I wanted to say my goodbyes because they were afraid she'd never make it off the table alive." _

_She almost died_. Those words echoed in an infinite loop in his head. She almost died and all he was concerned of was his battered ego.

He wanted to tear his sling off and risk damaging his left arm for good. He was useless with both arms anyway. He couldn't protect her from Cataliades and Lilith. What good was he? He should have fought for her with everything he had. But he stayed behind and moped like a girl.

He had been utterly revolted by Bill's smarmy ways of slithering into her life. But he was no better. At least Bill persisted. At least Bill never gave up on her.

He struck the bag once, twice, five more times until the small bones in his fingers crunched, yielding from the impact. He fell to his knees and he could hear Tray and Sam's hurried footfalls on the mat.

He felt a hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off gruffly. He didn't want their pity.

He pressed his bloody fist on the ground and pushed himself up. "Send me the bill at the Tavern," he told Tray, without looking up.

Tray Dawson, his old friend from their neighbourhood, opened his gym for him as soon as Sam gave him a call.

Tray didn't say anything when they arrived. He only offered Eric a set of black boxing gloves. Eric declined the gear as he went straight to the corner with the punching bags.

"Why don't we tape that up before you go?" Tray asked, nudging his head to Eric's bleeding knuckles.

He shook his head in response before he stalked out of the gym with Sam scuffling to catch up to him.

Tray could only watch his friend go. He, like most of Eric's old friends, knew only one person could enrage Eric to the point of wanting to hurt himself.

_Sookie._

* * *

**E/S**

He decorated her pristine white door with blood smear. She could just add that to the list of things he screwed up.

The bags under her eyes were red and swollen when she opened her door. She looked so tired and defenseless in her pink bathrobe and it was like a kick on his spleen knowing he was the reason behind those sad eyes. She let out a breath and her shoulder sagged from relief. Or it could be dismay as she gripped on the doorjamb as though she was bracing herself for a storm.

"_She was afraid of _you_,"_ Hadley's voice continued to taunt him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. It sounded like sigh but it was more than enough to make him deflate.

_Fuck no._

In a single stride he pulled her flush against him, throwing his arm around her. He needed the contact more than she did.

Her shoulders shook gently but erratically against him.

_Mission accomplished, Northman._

He made her cry. Again. That was all he was good for: Making her so fucking miserable.

"I'm so sorry, Eric," she said softly. And he had to pull back so he could look into her eyes and tell her to shut the hell up. To please stop apologizing because it was crushing him with unspeakable guilt. The sorrow on her face was like a machete to his chest.

"I was going crazy looking for you. You weren't at your loft. I tried the Tavern but it was closed. And I was so scared that you'd get into another accident," she said between sobs. "I wanted to explain. I need you to understand that didn't tell you not because I thought you weren't good enough. I just – I just don't want you to get hurt. And I was afraid that if you found out you'd do something rash and you'd wind up hurting yourself. I couldn't let that happen. I've lost so much, Eric, I can't lose you too."

She really had a way of twisting the knife.

"Don't," he cut her off, levelling her with his gaze. "Don't do that, Sookie. Don't apologize to me. I know what happened," he said, running a shaky hand over his hair, which was an idiotic move because now his hair was now dank with sticky crimson liquid. "Hadley told me."

Her eyes rounded in shock before she bit her lip to keep it from quivering. He swallowed hard because all he wanted to do was kiss her. But he couldn't. He wanted to. God, he was dying to.

"You listen to me," he started, tipping her head with his atrocious finger under her chin. "For so long I was mad at you. And I held onto that anger because I thought that was the only way I could hold onto you. I thought that as long as I had that anger festering inside me, I knew I had you. It was fucking stupid, I know. All these years, all I did is blame you. For running. For giving up on us." He lowered his hand as well as his gaze. He was afraid she'd see the shame written all over his face. "When I was the one who gave up on you."

She shook her head. "You have every right to hate me."

"No," he shushed her, his gaze back on her. "I don't hate you. I don't. I can't. I hate how fucked-up we are. I hate Lilith. I hate my dad; I hate your mom. I hate your fucking husband. I hate them because they stole you from me."

Her hand flew and found his cheek and if it wasn't so damned calming he would have never leaned into her palm like a sick puppy. Goddamn, he could feel himself melting into her. He slanted his head to plant a kiss on her palm and for a brief moment he thought she would recoil from him. Mercifully, she didn't.

"You've been there for your mom when she married my father. You were there for Pam tonight when she had her child. You ran to my side when I wrapped myself up in a fucking tree. Can't you see, Sookie? You were always there for everyone. But no one was there for you."

Her hand slipped from his face to his shoulder as she stared at him with glazed eyes.

"I missed you," she blurted. "I missed us. We used to be friends more than lovers. I missed that. I want to be able to talk to you without it turning into a screamfest. We may not be able to salvage what we lost but we can help each other heal. And we can start by letting me tend to your hand." She tipped her chin to his hand that looked more like a slab of raw meat now.

"It doesn't hurt," he lied, trying to sound tough to disguise the tingling pain. He suppressed a wince when she took his palm to examine the extent of the injury.

Did he say tingling? Well, it was more of a prickling pain of being pounded by a sledgehammer repeatedly.

She ushered him to the living room and waited for him to get settled to the sofa before she disappeared to fetch a first aid kit from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

His curious gaze followed her as she bounded down the stairs and darted to the adjoining kitchen. She came back with a bottle of Grey Goose and a glass with sliced lime. She poured three fingers of vodka into the glass and just when he thought she was going to hand it to him, she raised it to her lips and downed it in a couple of heavy gulps.

_The hell?_ He looked at her with a tight smirk and an arched a brow. "I needed it," she shrugged. "I might have to amputate your hand." She passed the bottle to him and smiled coyly. "You better start chugging down some too. I don't have Novocain so we'll have to improvise." She punctuated her quip with a playful wink and as hard as he tried he couldn't keep the goofy grin that graced his face.

"Let me guess, I should have seen the other guy?" she drawled sarcastically as she placed his hand on her thigh while she gingerly swabbed the open wounds with cotton pads drenched in isopropyl alcohol. He gritted his teeth to keep from cringing. He would rather bite his tongue clean off than tell her to go easy because it was fuck-me-ouchie.

"You'd be pleased to know that Tray's punching bag will not be pressing any charges," he volleyed back with an equal dash of dry humor.

She chuckled, sparing him a quick glance as she dabbed brown liquid antiseptic on his hand with cotton swabs.

"Although I want to maim a certain lawyer right now," he added in an icy whisper.

"Eric," she said chidingly, her ministration halting at once.

"They will pay for what they did," he gritted with an unflinching stare. "_Both_ of them."

Lilith and her lawyer would never see him coming. He might be related to her by blood but she took something from him that was stronger than any familial tie.

Sookie must have seen the grim determination on his face because she didn't offer any rebuttal. She only tucked her lower lip under her teeth and went back to wrapping his hand with gauze.

"Just don't do anything you'd regret," she mumbled after a while. "She's still your grandmother."

"I broke my bond with her the minute I saw your bruises at the B&B." His blood would still curdle whenever his mind wandered off to that god-awful day three years ago.

Again, she said nothing as she covered his hand with saran wrap and hoisted herself up on the sofa with her knees bent in front of him. Placing his hand on his lap, she then leaned closer and for a fleeting second he thought she would press her lips to his when flung her arms around his neck. To his dismay he felt her thumbs fiddling with the sling draped on his nape. He let out a sigh of disappointment. From their angle he could easily peek under her loose robe. It was too good to pass up. Twisting his head a little, he discovered she was wearing nothing but a sheer bra underneath.

He closed his eyes quickly. This would be a terrible time to get a hard-on.

"I'll draw you a bath. Your clothes are in the bathroom. I packed up a few from your apartment," she explained, peeling herself off the couch with his discarded sling wrapped around her bent arm.

"You presumed I'd come here and stay the night? Isn't that a bit cheeky of you, Stackhouse?" He refused to call her otherwise.

She didn't seem to mind the old appellation either as she rolled her eyes offhandedly while tightening the sash of her pink robe. "After the way you bolted, I thought I'd find you in jail or back in the hospital. Might as well be prepared. Pam has a go-bag too, in case she was your emergency contact."

Pam wasn't. Sookie was. He had it changed when she returned to Seattle.

"Always the girl scout," he said with a smirk as he followed her to the stairs. "One question, though. How do you suppose I take a bath with both my hands on a freaking Roman Holiday?"

"With my help of course," she countered arrogantly. Fan-fucking-tastic. How will he get through an entire bath without his dick springing into action? Maybe he should ask her to make the water ice cold.

"Don't worry," she said in a hurry probably reading the panicky look in his eyes as they entered the bathroom. "I won't take advantage of you."

_Damn shame. _

* * *

**E/S**

He never felt so pleased and frustrated at the same time after his bath. Every brush of her hand, every glide of the sponge, every stroke of her fingers was torture. Pure, straight-out-of-hell, torture. She kept her word though, and stayed away from his sensitive areas and let the soapy water clean the off-limit crevices.

She dried him off with a fluffy towel and he was like fucking invalid – correction, a stupidly, ecstatic cripple – for letting her. She helped him get into his boxers, and he couldn't help but smirk when he saw her cheeks flare up as she tried to keep her eyes on the tiled floors. Tried but failed woefully. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to lose against a punching bag after all.

When he was properly dressed he went down to the living room while she slipped into the bedroom right across the hall. He didn't follow her. As much as he wanted to know how far he could push his luck, he didn't want to taint the already tainted evening with him jumping the gun.

She came downstairs after a few minutes, wearing one of her oversized shirts and string pajama bottoms and it was like she was sixteen again. She plopped beside him and wove her fingers through his wet hair, as though that was the most natural thing to do. God help him, it was like she was punishing him. He swore if she kept torturing him like this, he would die with his cock as stiff as a flagpole.

He breathed deeply to calm himself, then lowered his eyes on the couch and saw a Nike shoe box in her lap.

"What's with the shoes?" he asked to distract himself from thoroughly enjoying her fingers doing all sorts of wonderful things on his scalp.

She pulled her hand away and he found himself missing it already. She looked down at the box and flipped the top lid before she slid it to the space between their thighs.

"I didn't have the money to see a shrink after the miscarriage. And honestly, I couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone about you and my – _our_ – child. I couldn't because I was selfish. Even in misery I don't want to share you, both of you."

His jaw tightened and he swore if his fists weren't strapped he would have punched a hole in the wall.

"These," she picked up one of the sealed envelopes with such gentleness, "these letters helped me cope. Every time I dreamed of you. Of him -"

"Him?"

"My dreams were always of a baby boy with your eyes," she explained.

He blinked quickly. He wasn't one for tears but the stinging sensation at the back of his eyes was threatening to convert him into one.

_His son. His eyes. His. _

And Lilith stripped him of a chance to be a father to the only woman he wanted to have a child with. He would gladly surrender his soul to the devil to be anything but a Northman right now.

"You were always with me. There was simply no getting away from you," she said with a hollow chuckle trying to cover the sadness in her tone with levity. She never should have tried, he could see right through her. "I want you to have them. I thought that maybe if you get to know him the way I did, even just in my dreams, maybe you won't be so angry anymore."

"I'm not angry because you didn't tell me. I accepted that. I _am_ trying to accept. I knew you were just- you were just being you. But it doesn't mean it hurts any less," he offered, plucking one sealed envelope with his middle and index finger. "I should have been there with you. I should have taken care of you. Maybe if I hadn't given up…"

Her finger snuck under his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Shut up," she snapped with a smile. "Nothing could change what happened."

He shook his head. "If I had tried a little harder, none of these would have happened. Y'see, all along I thought Bill was the neutered wimp who found a way to slither into your life when _I_ was the wimp," he hushed, sliding closer. "I was the asshole who let you suffer alone. Now I envy him. I envy that fucking bastard who gets to hold your hand without the fear of you pulling away. He gets to kiss you without it being wrong. He doesn't have to pretend he doesn't love you and that he's losing his mind every second you're away. He doesn't die a little bit everyday every time he sees you smile at someone else but him."

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**Thanks for reading and for sending your thoughts! I appreciate them all. They are love! Especially after that massacre that was the TB finale.**

**Ugh!**

**Those who were asking for Bill, he'll be making an appearance soon.**

**A big wave to amandagm! She's awesomesauce! **


	14. Chapter 14

_Previously..._

_"If I had tried a little harder, none of this would have happened. Y'see, all along I thought Bill was the neutered wimp who found a way to slither into your life when I was the wimp," he hushed, sliding closer. "I was the asshole who let you suffer alone. Now I envy him. I envy that fucking bastard who gets to hold your hand without the fear of you pulling away. He gets to kiss you without it being wrong. He doesn't have to pretend he doesn't love you and that he's losing his mind every second you're away. He doesn't die a little bit everyday every time he sees you smile at someone else but him."_

* * *

She looked away quickly. But she wasn't quick enough. He still saw the dampness that made her lower lashes stick together like spearheads. She straightened up, hurriedly gathered the letters from her lap and put them back inside the shoe box before she closed it. She placed the box on his lap as she slid gingerly from him, putting as much distance as the sofa could allow.

He tried to reach for her but she backed away and shook her head. What the hell. Did he miss something? He didn't have the chance to ask as she sprang out of the couch and went straight to the door.

"You should leave," she whispered, her eyes to the floor, her hand at the brass handle.

His brows knotted in confusion. What the fuck did he do? So much for being so damned honest. Maybe next time he should just lie.

She pulled the door open while still dodging his gaze. Without taking his eyes off her he peeled himself from the sofa and advanced in front of her. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He decided to let his scathing glare do the talking this time.

"You should leave, Eric." Her tone was as feeble as her command.

"No." He stepped closer. His bandaged hand nudged the door shut.

"Dammit Eric! You can't do this!" she gritted, finally looking up to meet his eyes. "You can't say things like that to married women and -"

"Not women. Just one. Just you."

"Like that!" she jabbed her finger to his chest. "Stop saying things like that! Things are different now. I'm married. I gave my word to Bill. Please, Eric. Don't make a liar out of me."

"Then stop lying!" he growled, his body pressing against hers making her backpedal to the door. "Tell me you don't love me. Tell me I'm only deluding myself. Tell me that Bill can make you happier."

He could feel her breath grazing his cheeks and he realized that in the middle of his outburst he managed to trap her against the door, his face only a couple of inches from hers.

"Tell me," he breathed. "Tell me, Sookie and I'm gone. I'll leave your house. I'll leave Seattle. I'll even leave the country so you can go and enjoy marital bliss with your fucking husband."

She pursed her lips, her chin up with quiet dignity. He wished for the times when she would shamelessly weep and turn into a trembling mess, letting him see her imperfections. The fragility she never showed anyone else but him.

* * *

**E/S **

_**Seven years ago…**_

Soft knocks jolted him out of bed and he knew immediately it was her. He checked the time on the digital clock by his bedside table. 1:09 AM.

_Hmm…What did I ever do to warrant a booty call?_

"Hey," was his sultry greeting. "Before we begin, you have to know I charge by the hour. Extra for -"

He never got to finish his sentence when she flung her arms around him. Her face buried in the crook of his neck as he felt something moist and warm trickle down his bare chest. He could be a self-absorbed asshole sometimes.

"Hey, hey," he shushed, running his hand on her back while dipping his nose in her hair. He pulled her inside as he kneed the door close behind them.

He led her to his bed as she wept like child.

"Pam," she sobbed, tears and snot mingling together and she brushed them furiously away. "She's using. Mom found a stash of heroin behind the shelves. How can I miss that? What kind of sister am I?"

He shushed her with his thumb brushing the pad of her lower lip. "This isn't your fault." She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head in disagreement. "Where is she?"

"Having withdrawals, puking her guts out," she answered weakly. "Mom wants to send her to Louisiana. I don't want that, Eric. I don't."

"She needs help."

"I know. But if she leaves now, everyone will find out. She's only sixteen, Eric. If the school finds out she'll be expelled."

Eric contemplated for a moment as he studied her closely.

"My dad knows someone who can help Pam. He has a clinic in LA."

"A rehab?"

He nodded yes. "My grandmother is one of his biggest donors. One word from Dad and they'll keep everything hush-hush."

Sookie went silent for a while.

"I have a cousin from Vancouver who also needed rehab when he got hooked in vicodin. His stint was off the books. My grandmother's like the freaking godfather in California. Trust me. It'll work. I'll talk to Dad, he'll make it happen."

"You'd do that for Pam?"

He shook his head. "I'd do that for you."

He took her home and together they held vigil on the couch. The next morning, Godric, Michelle and Pam took the 18-hour drive to Los Angeles. Pam stayed in the rehab facility in San Diego for six weeks. Eric kept his word as Lilith made sure Pam's record would be sealed from the public.

Hindsight was twenty-twenty. Pam would get the help she needed. And their parents would be able to spend quality time to get closer.

Who knew, it was that pivotal event that would alter their lives for-fucking-ever.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Present day…**_

One.

Two.

Three heartbeats passed until he could no longer take it. This was one hell of a vicious cycle. One he so desperately wanted to escape.

He could. He could be the bolter this time. He could leave her and give her a taste of her own poison.

His stance slackened as he backed away. Did she have to spell it out for him? Would he really be a fucking masochist as to wait for her to say the words?

No.

Turning to the side he reached out for the door handle.

"I guess I have my answer," he hushed as he pulled the door open and stepped outside, cool Autumn breeze embraced him like a cruel bitch.

"Eric!"

He stiffened, pausing at the bottom step of the porch. He didn't turn around, clinging to the last shred of his dignity. It was enraging how a simple whistle could make him go running like a whipped dog. She couldn't do that. She wasn't supposed to toy with him. He picked up his pace and thanked the deities of the suburbs that their neighbors were decent enough to judge their soap opera from behind the curtains.

"Eric!" He could hear the crunch of the gravel under her bare feet.

He was at the sidewalk when she caught up to him. She tugged at his elbow, urging him to stop and turn.

He shifted sideway, just enough for her to catch his glare. He knew her too well. He was certain the stubborn righteous girl in her would prohibit her from making a scene. Especially under the presumption that they were being gawked at by the neighbors.

"I haven't given you an answer yet."

"It wasn't long division, Sookie. I already know what your answer will be."

"So. What? You're a psychic now?"

"I don't need to be. I can read you quite clearly."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged, letting go of his elbow. "Then read this," she snapped before she draped her arms around his nape and tiptoed to latch onto his mouth. Nothing about the kiss was gentle or romantic. It was furious and uncouth. Sloppy even as their teeth clashed because of the lack of synchronicity.

He drew back, wide-eyed and gasping.

"Is that clear enough for you, Northman?"

"No," he rasped, snaking his arm around her waist. "Try again."

Her fingers got lost in his hair as he pushed his body against hers, all the while cursing the obstruction caused by his sling. She might have made the first move but he was quick to catch up. He bit her lower lip with all the restraint he could muster. He was ravenous and she was pliable. He wanted to kiss her slowly, savor every sensation but he couldn't contain himself any longer. She tugged on his hair and that one feral action drove him insane. Fuck gentle. Fuck slow. He growled when her tongue clashed with his and he realized that after all these years, she could still make him act like a horny nerd.

"The neighbors are watching," he mumbled against her lips.

"I don't care," she groused, pushing herself up even higher. "I'll just charge them for the tickets tomorrow."

With his arm clasped around her middle, he backpedalled to the house. He would never let go. Even with a sling on one arm and a questionable hand at the other he was certain he could fight anyone off who would try to take her away.

"I love you," she murmured between ragged breaths when they reached the porch. They must have looked like a couple of lovesick morons. But damn if he cared.

"Say it again," he ordered, his bandaged hand cradling the side of her face, keeping her in place.

"I love you," she replied obediently, a smile dancing on her kiss-swollen lips.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Louder."

"I love you."

"Damn right, you do."

She slapped his arm playfully and he apologized with another kiss.

This time it was slow and languid. Probing but gentle. And he never wanted it to end.

They plopped on the couch without breaking contact. He forbade any interruption. Forever flew in mere minutes as he finally released her lips to nip on the flesh at the underside of her jaw. Her soft moans and whimpers were stronger than any aphrodisiac known to men as he felt his manhood throb inside his boxers.

_Patience, my good man._

If he could have his way he'd make their first time – after three years –last a lifetime. But he doubted his stamina and his demanding cock would let him.

"Eric," she whispered, tugging at the collar of his buttoned-down black shirt. He grunted a muffled "uh-huh" never wanting to separate his greedy lips from the creamy flesh of her neck.

She sucked in a breath when he started sucking on the hollow of her throat. "Wait," she squealed. She held his face, pulling him up. "Wait."

"What?" he asked out of breath.

"If we're gonna do it, we have to do it right."

"Okay. Not on the couch? Off to the bed then," he deadpanned, although he had an inkling she meant something else.

She gave him a scolding glare but the mirth behind her eyes was unmissable.

"You won't be a kept man."

_Damn straight, I won't. _

"I'll talk to Bill. I don't want to do this while I'm still married," she whispered while her fingers stroke his cheeks. Fuck this woman and her deft fingers. It was like she was hypnotizing him. She straightened up pushing Eric to sit beside her.

"Fine," he agreed. "Talk to that weasel. You can use my phone. He might still be sleeping though. But you can leave him a voicemail."

She couldn't help but chuckle as she smoothed out his tousled hair. "I may be a bitch, but not that kind of bitch."

"You broke up with me through a voicemail," he pointed out. The bitterness that laced his tone was deliberate.

Her face turned solemn. "I didn't break up with you. We were never over."

Hallelujah. An admission that wasn't coerced.

She took a breath. "He'll be here in a couple of days."

He shook his head. "I can't wait that long."

She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a look.

"We'll fly to New York first thing today. We'll talk to him together. All things aside, Bill and I have a history together. Maybe I can use that to our advantage. I'll even offer him my share of the bar. He can sell it. He doesn't have to come here anymore. He can go back to Los Angeles and start fresh. Who knows, maybe he can find someone else there. Maybe even the love of his pathetic life because there's no way in hell I'm letting him have mine."

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**There will be another chapter with EPOV before we get to Bill's POV, where he will (hopefully) shed light to some gnawing questions. **

**This is an apology for those who were waiting for an update for DMH. I'll get back to that soon!**

**A major salute to amandagm, my rock star sounding board and proofreader extraordinaire! All other mistakes are mine.**

**Thank you for reading and sending thoughtful remarks! Love, love y'all!**


	15. Chapter 15

He slept. Deader than a corpse. It was ironic because it was the first time he felt so alive in years.

He dreamed of a nameless infant lying on his chest, snoring softly through his rosebud lips. He could smell the talcum powder on the baby's back and he succumbed to the call of the heavenly scent of his soft head. He tilted his head ever so gently; he wouldn't forgive himself if he roused the little guy who had mistaken his torso for a warm mattress.

He smiled at the sight of those plump rosy cheeks twitching, just begging to be kissed or pinched. He swore if the baby wakes up, looks up at him with his notorious blue eyes and say 'Dada' he would have a heart attack. The good kind.

Alas, the baby boy in his dreams stayed asleep - peacefully tucked under the curve of his arms. That would do for now.

He couldn't quite understand it before, how someone so little could take up a huge space in his heart. The phantom child who held such power over him. Just like his mother.

His tiny little legs stirred against his chest and his vibrant blue eyes peered up at him. Small frost-white fingers wrapped around his thumb and that was when he fully grasped what cruelty really was. Because at that exact moment, he contemplated if he was better off not knowing about the child he could never hold.

* * *

**E/S**

He woke up with a jolt. He blinked a few times to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. His traitorous vision had done it before. Conjuring up images of her only to take them back the minute he reached out only to find an empty space.

She shifted without opening her eyes, pushing her legs up to her chest, curling in a fetal position. Her parted lips moved. He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched her mumble in her sleep. He had told her time and time again about her sleep-talking habit and she would always go off on him like a poked bear.

Maybe he should take a video so he'd have evidence this time.

However, procuring his smartphone lying on the TV rack would require him to move and leave her side. Nah, he'd let the punk slide this time. He would have plenty of time to catch her on tape later.

He pressed his cheek on the backrest, mirroring her stance as she slept facing him. He was mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of her chest. He couldn't remember who fell asleep first; but the throw over his chest solved the mystery. Was she watching him sleep? Oh shit, did he snore? Did he drool? He remembered how she and Pam would make fun of him every time he dozed off in their house during movie nights. The Stackhouse sisters were tiny devils back then, doodling on his face with glow-in-the-dark markers. He made a mental note to check for neon drawings in the morning.

With minimal movement he draped the blanket over her shoulder. She had thin Southern blood and yet she was stubborn enough to cover him with the duvet. He bit back a yawn as he darted a glance to the clock hanging by the wall behind him: 5:05 AM. His eyes were getting heavy. He really should catch some snooze before she woke up but he wasn't quite done watching her. Not just yet.

The past three years barely touched her. She still had that buoyant glow in her, save for a few crinkles at the corner of her eyes. It was as if those years never existed and she was still the girl he promised to elope with. He felt a shiver ran through him when his eyes landed on her lips, which were slightly bruised from the assault of his insatiable mouth. A sigh escaped her, a two-syllable sigh that resembled his name.

_Ah, sweet victory._

* * *

**E/S**

He was pulled out of his slumber by a divine scent wafting out of the kitchen. She was no longer beside him. And he panicked at once. He glanced at the clock over his head and realized he had slept for four more hours. The duvet he wrapped over her had slithered back onto him. He rolled his back and tipped his head to the side to stretch the stiff muscles around his neck for sleeping upright on the sofa.

It was a small price to pay for the night he had.

He heard scuffling from the kitchen and thought he better pinched himself for good measure because there was no way in God's green earth that Sookie could conjure anything with a mouth-watering scent like that. If he wasn't mistaken, he was the cook between the two of them. It wasn't because he loved doing it but because she was hopeless cause in the kitchen.

At first, he thought Pam was exaggerating about her sister's lack of culinary skill until one day after school he unearthed Sookie's Achilles heel when he witnessed her burning canned minestrone. He didn't know someone could mess up heating soup until she did.

_Wait, fuck, was it Bill? _

That neutered wimp wasn't supposed to arrive in a couple more days.

He padded to the adjoining room on his bare feet which suited his stealthy attack in the kitchen. He ducked through the open door and saw her.

The girl, who thought a spatula was part of a human anatomy, humming while whisking something inside a deep stainless bowl. His heart did a somersault. The view was nothing but perfection. Straight out of his fantasy.

There could only be one explanation for this sorcery. He had somehow entered an alternate universe where Sookie knew how to turn on a stovetop. Yes, that would be it. Or he could still be sleeping.

"Good, you're up," she chirped as she swiveled to face him with a wooden spatula on her hand. Yes, he realized the irony. "Grab a chair. Waffles are almost done."

Like almost every room in the house, the kitchen was also modest in size. It had overhead wooden cupboards painted in beige and marble island bar with three high stools. The toaster made a ding. She grabbed the two slices of bread that popped up and tossed them quickly on the plate by the counter. She dropped the spatula back in the frying pan and traipsed to his side carrying three full plates like a pro. Two separate ones for what looked like eggs benedict and one for a pile of bacon.

If this was a dream he would skin anyone alive who would dare wake him up.

"Coffee or juice? I only have orange juice, though. With pulp." He hated those squishy, stringy pulps. Hence the warning.

It was as if someone had chopped off his tongue as he continued to gape silently at her while she grabbed a carton of orange juice from the two-door refrigerator. She was waltzing back to him and it was the first time he noticed the words on her apron: _Kiss the Cook_.

Who was he to question the solemnity of the almighty apron's command?

He smirked as he peeled himself off the stool to stand behind her when she went back to fetch the waffles. He wrapped his good arm around her waist as he leaned down to give her nape a chaste peck which made her jump back in surprise.

The blush that slowly spread on her cheeks as she trotted to the island was his wake-up call. _Good morning, indeed._

"Come here and eat your waffles. There're only two. I ran out of flour so you better hurry up or I'll duel you for your share," she ordered in a stern voice that he always found so fucking charming.

"Where did you learn how to make these?" His eyes made a quick scan of the countertop that doubled as the dining table. A complete breakfast set. And by god they all looked appetizing. It was like a prisoner's last meal.

"I told you I can cook now, didn't I? When I lived in New Hampshire, Gran's friends taught me a few dishes. Breakfast is their specialty," she explained while she smeared Nutella on top of the waffle. She then sliced it into bite sizes, making crunching noise that made Eric stomach growl from starvation. She slid the plate in front of him before she worked on her own piece. "So prepare to lose your six-pack because I'm gonna make you fat."

His lips tugged into a Cheshire grin. "So you noticed my abs, huh?" he purred. "I thought you weren't looking."

She kept her eyes on her plate, dodging his teasing gaze. "I had to look to check if they were airbrushed."

He dipped his head low enough to press his lips to her ear. "Oh, honey, there's nothing fake here. What you see is what you get," he cooed.

She swatted his shoulder playfully, making him chuckle as he pulled away. Don't let her innocent looks mislead you, because her dainty little fingers could still inflict pain.

Scent could also be deceiving as well that heavy dollop of chocolate-flavored peanut butter. So as he as clutched on to that fork with his aching fingers, he was also steeling himself to keep a straight face when he showered her with fake praises. It was one of those few husband duties he opted to perfect. To his amazement, there was no need to lie. It wasn't horrible. Not at all.

He pounded on his plate like a famished bear and cleaned his plate in no time. He decided he wanted more. His eyes raked the table and found Sookie's untouched waffle. _Perfecto._

His fork flew and landed right at the equator of the round checkered pastry. However, before he could steal it from her plate, her fork clashed with his like swords.

"Leggo my eggo, jack," she chided, staring him down. The slight twitch on the corner of her lips belied her warning.

"No dice, toots," he countered, playing along with the all too familiar game.

"Let go or I'd clobber you with a baguette," she threatened, her other hand reaching for the French bread on top of the thick wooden chopping board.

"You'd beat up a cripple for a waffle?"

"I've done worse for less."

_Violent little spitfire, I tell you. _

He was beginning to crack. He could feel the side of his mouth tugging out of reflex but he fought the urge to break into a grin.

"Well, color me shocked. I guess age had mellowed you both down. I was actually expecting to see a crime-scene tape by the front porch," Pam drawled as she posed by the door with one hand on her hip.

"What are you doing walking in daylight? Aren't you afraid you'd burn?" Eric snarked back without breaking his standoff over the last piece of waffle.

Pam's glossy red lips twisted into a scowl. "Ha-ha. You're hysterical," she drawled. "Where d'you find him?" she turned to Sookie, who was suppressing a smile of her own. The shallow dimple on Sookie's cheek was giving her away. "I was this close to calling animal control."

"Oh shut up, both of you." Sookie rolled her eyes. "Do your bickering after breakfast." She was the first to relent as she withdrew her fork and Eric wasted no time as he forked the waffle over to his plate. What he didn't count on was Pam's quick thieving hand as she snatched the pastry off his plate when he reached for the knife.

"Sonofa!" he spat earning him a disapproving glare from Sookie. He had forgotten what a primate Pam was behind closed doors.

"Where did you get this?" Pam said as she took a bite off the sticky waffle while she leaned against the counter, the small of her back pressing against the marble edge.

"I made it," Sookie chimed, looking like a child dying to show-off a new skill.

Pam looked at Sookie then to Eric. He answered her unspoken query with a slow shrug.

"Seriously, Sook, where did you buy this?"

"You are both ungrateful shitheads, y'know that?" she spat, wagging her finger at him and her intrusive sister. Pam shrugged dismissively pulling a stool beside her sister, creating an infuriating barrier between him and his lover.

"So I guess you two made up?" Pam inquired, filching a piece of hickory bacon strip from Sookie's plate. "I should have known when all my calls were diverted to voicemail. You could have called me, y'know. So I could call off the search."

Sookie's eyebrows arched. "You were calling me?"

Pam nodded, her mouth filled with stolen goods.

"Both of you. You left your phone at Tray's by the way," she nodded pointedly at him before she turned to her sibling. "Yours just kept on ringing. And now I see why."

Sookie tucked her lower lip under her teeth to repress another girlish smirk. "I'll go check my phone. Save me some bacon," she said, sliding off her stool while avoiding her sister's scrutinizing stare.

He could hear her tiny footsteps climbing the stairs to her bedroom.

"No promises!" Pam yelled to her before she faced Eric, her smile dissolving into a solemn line. "I called Hadley. She said you got to her first."

Eric reached for the steaming cup of black coffee. This conversation required something stronger.

"Tell me you're gonna do something about it or I swear Eric, I don't care if she's your fucking Memaw, I'll go Dexter on her ass for what she did to my sister." That was something he could always count on in Pam, she had no qualms broadcasting her thoughts no matter how depraved they might be.

Well, if Pam wanted to go psycho on Lilith, she would have to get in line.

"I'll handle Lilith and Cataliades," he replied in a clipped tone. "I called Alcide last night. He'll be in LA before the week ends to start digging dirt on Cataliades."

Alcide Herveaux, Sookie's first boyfriend, was running his own private investigation firm in Arlington. He wasn't filthy rich like Eric but he was a damned good PI who catered to the politicians and oligarchs of DC. Alcide was actually overbooked, but he knew better than to refuse Eric's request.

"Does he know why?"

Eric shook his head. "If I told him, he'd beg me to bury Cataliades himself."

Alcide had carried a torch for Sookie long after they had broken up. There was even a time when Eric and Alcide had a royale rumble that could rival Thrilla in Manila with Sookie as a prize. That brawl earned them both a thwack to the head and the Best Caveman award from the girl they were fighting over. But that was a story for another time as he seized a crisp strip of bacon before Pam inhaled all of them.

He saw Pam purse her lips and give him a once over. He was certain that they had reached an understanding. He and Pam might not have a lot of things in common but they only needed one to form a sturdy alliance. _Sookie_.

"Do I want to know how that happened?" She nudged her head to his bandaged hand.

"Tray's punching bag," he shrugged.

"I can see who got the last laugh. So, what's the verdict?"

"Sookie wants to amputate it, but she thought I'll suffer more if we just wait for it to fester and fall off."

Pam grinned. "I have machete she can use if she changes her mind."

He rolled his eyes as he dug into his Benedict before Pam beat him it to. He stole a quick glimpse at the door. Sookie hadn't been gone for ten minutes and he already missed her. He was certifiably screwed alright. He dropped his gaze to his plate as he poked his egg making gooey, yellow yolk ooze out.

"So. What happens now?" Pam asked, breaking the silence. "This house in a fucking prairie is going to collapse once Bill gets here. You know that, right?"

He lifted his gaze as his lips broke into a languid smirk.

"Who says we'll wait for him?"

Pam drew her brows together, her lips gaping in confusion.

"Didn't I tell you? She's leaving him. We're flying to Manhattan today to deliver the good news. Apparently this kind of conversation needs to be face to face. And if he refuses it'll be his face and my fist." He would have made a perfectly good argument if he was able to make a fist.

"Shut the fuck up!" She slapped his shoulder hard. It almost made him fall off his stool. _See, volatile, vicious devils._

"No, I won't."

The glint in Pam's eyes was unmistakable. He and Pam could fight like real siblings. She could be pretty damned insufferable most of the time. And not once had he contemplated shaving her eyebrows so she couldn't waggle them mockingly at him anymore. But if there was one thing he knew without a doubt, Pam was Team Eric all the way.

"About fucking time you man up!" Pam exclaimed her hands shooting up in the air.

He didn't get to voice out his retort when Sookie trudged in the kitchen, face as white as chalk, shoulders sagging.

This did not bode well for him.

She was cradling her mobile phone with both palms to her chest. "I just returned Bill's call," she started her voice barely a whisper. "There was a fire in his parents' retirement home last night. His parents didn't survive. Bill's on his way to Dallas. He wants me to meet him there."

Just like that all the forward momentum he established came crashing down. He should have whisked her away when he had the chance because there was no way she would leave her husband now.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**A big THANKS to amandagm, who tried to make this a bit more readable. All other mistakes are mine. **

**Next bit is Bill's POV.**

**Thank you for reading and leaving reviews! They make my day!**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Previously...**_

_She was cradling her mobile phone with both palms to her chest. "I just returned Bill's call," she started her voice barely a whisper. "There was a fire in his parents' retirement home last night. His parents didn't survive. Bill's on his way to Dallas. He wants me to meet him there."_

_Just like that all the forward momentum he established came crashing down. He should have whisked her away when he had the chance because there was no way she would leave her husband now._

* * *

_**Two weeks later…**_

Bill tipped the heavy glass to his lips, sipping the numbing liquor that had been his constant companion for the past few years. His love affair with single malt whiskey started when he decided his venture for the holy grail.

That elusive quest was now captured in still photos sprawled neatly on top of the mahogany table. He arranged the pictures not by date but by the magnitude of her betrayal.

On the top queue were seven – no, eight - photos of her and her bastard of a stepbrother on thefront yard. She was a whore in every sense of the word, her arms wantonly dangling around his neck while they make out like depraved perverts for everyone's viewing pleasure.

Her shameless debauchery was unforgivable. It was as if she was asking to be caught.

He lobbed his glass across the room, soiling his expensive Persian rug with dark amber liquid.

Not a minute later came the raps on the door.

"Bill?" the whore called out. "Is everything okay?"

_No, bitch. Everything is _not_ okay._

He swallowed the bile at the tip of his tongue. "Yes, dear. Just a little accident. I'll be out in a minute," he lied.

When it came to dealing with her, lying was the best policy.

He gathered the photos and shoved them back in the brown manila envelope. He inserted it in the velvet flap of his attaché case before he slammed the briefcase shut. His thumb skated over the combination lock to jumble the numbers. He then swept his hair to his forehead as he pried himself off the black worn-out leather wingback chair.

He opened the door of his study back in his old family residence in Pasadena and the whore greeted him with a timid smile.

"They're waiting for you," she said, sounding every bit like a good wife.

His vacant eyes roamed her form. She was wearing a modest lacy black dress and a string of impeccable ivory pearls around her neck. Her hair was swept in a loose chignon baring her neck.

He reached out to touch her necklace, his knuckles shuddering involuntarily against her skin. He splayed his fingers to cup her throat and felt her flinch beneath his touch.

_Whore._

He could barely keep it together. A part of him was goading him to strangle her. _Break her neck_, the voice prodded. It would be as easy as snapping a dry twig. He could pull her inside the study by her pristine pearls and choke her. She wouldn't even have time to scream. The sound of her bone crunching would be his Beethoven. He would grin with indulgence while watching her ocean blue eyes that very much resembled her lover's turn into a glassy sheen.

The memory would haunt him for years but it would be worth it.

Then again, a quick death wouldn't be so rewarding. Sluts like her deserved to suffer.

"Beautiful," he whispered at last, stroking her neck. "You're as beautiful as always, darling. Thank you. I never would have survived the past couple of weeks without you."

She replied with another vacuous smile before she lowered her gaze to the floor, looking surprisingly contrite.

His hand slid down the length of her arm to take her hand but before he could entwine his fingers with hers she pulled away and hooked her arm around the crook of his elbow instead. It took everything in him not to scowl from her coldness – her detachment.

Biting back an indignant scream he ushered her to the family room of the Compton's Georgian mansion. The house wasn't as massive and decadent as their manor in Bel-Air but it would do.

He plastered his signature smile as he welcomed and thanked old acquaintances who came for his parents' memorial service. Godric and Michelle also came to pay their respect. His in-laws were decent and courteous. Bill hoped he could say the same about their offspring.

His parents' urns were the centerpiece of the family room, standing side by side atop the grand antique Carrara marble fireplace.

He scanned the guests' faces one by one, calling each one by their first names. He was good with names. He had an elephant's memory, his mother used to say. And he vowed to keep it that way. He would never be like his father. A man reduced to a hollow shell who couldn't even recognize his own name.

It didn't take long before he spied a silver-haired old woman with a designer walking cane by the shelves, seemingly admiring his parents' wedding photo hanging above the fireplace mantel.

He felt the whore stiffen in his arm as they approached the aging matriarch with the coldest blue eyes.

"Lilith," he nodded before he leaned down to plant chaste kisses on the old woman's cheeks. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course, William. Your parents will be sorely missed," she nodded slightly. "How are you holding up?"

"Quite well, thank you. I have Sookie to keep me steady through trying times."

Lilith's inscrutable gaze landed on his wife as though it was the first time she had noticed the whore's presence.

"Susanna," she drawled. "It's a shame that it has to take a tragedy like this to reunite us."

His promiscuous better half gave the matriarch a look that would have murdered a lesser woman.

The slut then turned to him. "Excuse me, Bill. I'll have to check with the caterers to see if we have enough live mice to feed _her_," the whore, who apparently managed to borrow a spine, murmured with a saccharine smile.

Bill saw Lilith's eyes narrow into slits. However, the silver-haired woman had enough self-control to bite back a retort.

He squared his shoulders as he took Lilith's pale, bony fingers and ushered her to an isolated corner by the antique bookshelves.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you," he started, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible low. "In light of recent events, I want to amend our previous agreement."

"Not now, William," she hummed as she waved at her son, who was eyeing them curiously.

He groaned and gave the old woman a look as if to tell her he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Very well," she resigned with a jut of her chin. "Do you have a place where we can talk in private?"

He answered with a curt nod before he led her to his study. The door snapped shut as Lilith sauntered across the room, discarding her cane by the door. The cane was nothing but an accessory to give her the aura of a frail old woman. Bill knew that of course. He knew that when it came to the Northmans, nothing should be taken at face value.

She scrunched her nose in evident disgust when her sight landed at the shattered glass on the carpet. But like a perfect lady, she didn't touch the subject. She propped herself in the wingback chair behind the mahogany desk without hesitation, as though she owned the place.

_Typical_, Bill thought grimly. Northmans never asked for permission. They never apologized for anything. They all lived in the assumption that everyone was beneath them.

"I've done my end of the bargain," he started as he sat across from the woman who reduced Bill to a mere visitor in his own home.

"The deal was five years. You've only been married for two months. My last retreat to St. Barths lasted twice as long."

"I hope you're not implying I wait five years," Bill retorted melodiously to mask the exasperation in his tone. "I need it _now_."

She tsked, shooting him a condescending glare. "You're starting to sound like a destitute, William. It's very unbecoming."

"This house is all that's left of my father's legacy," he explained, gripping the armrest tightly. "It's already on its second mortgage. If I'm to keep it, I have to start paying the banks. I owe it to my father."

Her cold blue eyes picked him apart. "Drop the act, William. You're among friends; I won't judge."

"What act?" he gritted, repressing the urge to shiver from the coldness of her tone.

She cackled. "Oh please. Am I the only one who can see through your performance?" He opened his mouth to object but he was silenced by another icy look. "This grieving child act is getting tedious. We both know why you want to keep this house. And it isn't to pay homage to your father. You've already cut that cord the minute word got out that his brain had turned into mush."

Bill twitched. She had no right to accuse him of being a bad son. He opened his mouth only to close it again when she arched her brow at him with an invisible grin.

"How many times have you visited your parents in Dallas, William?"

Bill kept mum. He had only been to Dallas twice. Once when he helped them relocate and the second time was when he identified their charred remains in the morgue.

Her grin was no longer invisible. "My point exactly," she crooned. "Don't feel bad, William. I told you I won't judge. You want to keep this house because it's the only thing that reminds you of who you were. Of your glory days. You want to uphold your name despite everything that happened. You want to keep it pristine."

"Just like you," Bill declared with a nudge of his chin, daring the matriarch to refute.

She didn't.

A pregnant lull blanketed the room as they let their mutual understanding simmer in the air.

"Help me, Lilith," he prodded after the moment had passed. "I have no sufficient resources to keep our estate. Even if I sue the retirement home for negligence, there's a huge possibility I won't get a dime. The lawyers advised me to drop the charges and cut my losses since four residents also died from the accident."

Ironically, it wasn't his mentally unstable father who started the fire but his lucid mother, who left a lit cigarette in the bed. Was it a cry for help? Was that her subconscious trying to give her an easy way out of the hellhole her husband had put her through? Bill had no clue.

Lilith studied him for a full minute before she took a deep breath and sighed.

"Your parents are – _were_ – my dear friends. That is why I feel compelled to help you, William."

_Oh, my. How charitable of you,_ he almost drawled but decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He learned from experience that when dealing with the Northmans the best course of action was to keep his head down, knees on the ground and his lips on their feet. Or ass.

"Tell me what you need," Lilith said, patronizing as always.

"I want access to the trust right now."

"Out of the question," she said with casual flick of a hand.

"Why?" he gritted.

"Because I have no confidence in you," she stated without missing a beat. "We agreed that you would keep her away from Eric and the first thing you did after your nuptial was let her scamper back to Seattle. That speaks volume of how little she regards your marriage."

"I had everything under control. Eric's incessant need to steal my thunder was to blame for that snafu."

"Snafu?" she chuckled mockingly. "Is that what you call your incompetence?"

"I will not be mocked in my own home!"

"Save your theatrics for someone else, William," Lilith cut him off with a piercing glare. "Two years. Then and only then will I transfer her trust to you."

"I don't have that much time. The banks are already hounding me." He shook his head over and over. "Six months."

"One year." Lilith stood up. "And stop acting like it was a grave disservice to you. Susanna isn't exactly hideous. At least my grandson didn't think so."

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose to rein himself in. He was tempted to divulge his wife's lascivious actions but decided against it. If he were to convince Lilith that he had Sookie on a string then he had to keep up with the charade.

"One year then," he deflated.

Lilith extended her hand to him, palm down, and for a flitting moment he thought he was expected to kiss her hand to seal the deal.

"Walk me to my car." It wasn't a request.

He let out a pocket of air as he escorted the entitled old bat out of the study and into the door, pausing to gather her decorative cane. He gave perfunctory nods to guests who caught him as they passed by the reception area, all the while dodging the inquisitive looks Godric and Michelle were giving him.

Roman met them at the spacious colonnade, overlooking the sinuous walkway leading to the wide open iron gates. Bill scooted to the side to make room for the Grecian sentry who took the matriarch's hand dutifully before he handed Bill a sealed white envelope.

"What's this?"

"A wedding gift. Something to start you off on the right foot," Lilith drawled. "One look at Susanna and I can tell you'll need that." Bill tucked the envelope in his inner breast pocket to peruse later.

Roman inched closer. "I spied Eric circling the block four times in the past half hour."

Lilith shifted her head from side to side, visibly thrilled at the possibility of seeing her bastardous grandson.

Eric's presence, however stealthy, didn't come as a surprise to Bill. It was still infuriating though that the son of a bitch would cross state lines and set foot in Bill's territory just to catch a glimpse of the whore. It was nothing short of spitting on his parents' grave.

He didn't realize he was trembling with pent up rage until he felt cold, skeletal fingers wrap around his wrist.

"Forgive my grandson's indiscretions. Eric seems to lack the sense of boundary when it comes to Susanna," she soothed, forcing a dash of empathy in her tone. "By the way, when you get back to Seattle, I want you to meet with an associate of mine. She has something that belongs to your wife."

"How will I find her?"

"She'll contact you," Lilith hushed before she leaned in to him to for a cursory kiss goodbye on the cheek. "Fix this, William. I can be a very generous benefactor. I'll even double the fund if you manage to spawn a child."

Bill shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched Lilith and Roman get into a black Lincoln and peel off the driveway.

_Spawn a child_? He almost laughed out loud. Parting the red sea would be easier than parting his wife's legs.

* * *

**E/S**

The whore was waiting for him by the door when he waltzed inside.

"What were you doing with Lilith in the study?" she questioned, her brows knotted with thinly-veiled suspicion.

He pushed her further inside just in case Eric drove by again.

He stroked her cheek gently, ignoring the slight quivering of her chin. "Nothing that should worry you, sweetheart. It's just Lilith being Lilith. She's disappointed that we eloped to Vermont and she's insisting on throwing us a reception dinner before we go back to Seattle."

The whore's eyes widened as she took half a step back. "What did you tell her?"

He was quick to arrange his features to seem offended. "I declined, of course. I knew you would disapprove. I told her that we're still mourning, and nursing her bruised ego is the least of our concern."

She pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to the floor, suitably shamed. Manipulating her was easy. Making her heel was a different story.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "That- That woman brings out the worst in me."

"It's alright, darling."

She levelled her eyes with his with a humbled expression. "Thank you… for telling her off."

He smiled solemnly, pinching her chin. "Anything for you…"

… _my darling whore._

* * *

**E/S**

"You're Lilith Northman's granddaughter, right?" his mother's best friend whose name eluded him asked his slut of a wife.

The whore sighed then nodded. "Adopted granddaughter," she corrected the woman with the perfectly coiffed graying hair.

"Then you two must be crazy in love to elope to Vermont. I know your mother would have wanted a church wedding for her only son."

Bill smiled politely as he took the harlot's hand and kissed the back of it. "I am madly in love with her. My mother would understand, I'm sure."

The old woman gushed. "You are one lucky lady Susanna."

There was no response, which he found was curious. She had been very gracious all day.

He turned to her only to find that she wasn't addressing their guest anymore. She was looking at the door, pale and unblinking.

He darted his eyes to follow her line of vision.

His blood chilled as he stared at the menace at the threshold. He felt her fingers slackening around his as she yanked her hand out of his grasp as though she was mortified to be seen with him. There was a growing unease on her face as she breathed out one word.

One stupid word that sent Bill's world into a spiral.

"Eric."

_This is about to get very ugly. _

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**So sorry for the delay. I'll try to make up for the long wait. The next chap is almost done. It's EPOV. **

**A big THANK YOU to amandagm for her pro bono work on this fic. She's awesome, just effin' awesome! Her stories are as freakin' addictive as her. **

**Also for RealJena who plugged this fic on her story because she's just so sweet like that. You've probably read her stuff, but I'm gonna pimp them anyway, she's here on FF, she writes lemony goodies. 'nuff said. **

**For those following DMH, I **_**am**_** writing an epilogue. I just can't get Bill to shut the hell up! **

**Much love! **


	17. Chapter 17

He was going to burn in hell for this.

It was a plan doomed to backfire but his other options were simply unacceptable. _He just had to see her_.

Two weeks. Fourteen fucking days. If he had to spend another day thinking of her with _him_, he would have a psychotic break.

So on the 13th day, he jumped on a plane and flew to the one place he had sworn never to set foot in.

He had been driving around the block for a couple of hours, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for his unexpected – and without a doubt, unwelcome – presence.

Maybe he could say he was there to support the family but even the Corleones wouldn't buy that.

He could say he was in town for business. That was half true considering he was going to meet Alcide the next day. However, that explanation would lead to a hundred more questions. Questions he could never answer without revealing his scheme to take down the witch.

He was tempted to put on a Jack Nicholson but he doubted any of them could handle the truth. If only he could tell them that he was there for her. Would that be so bad?

The answer would be yes. It would be beyond obscene. And he was going to burn in hell for sure.

* * *

**E/S**

_**Two weeks ago…**_

"You can't stay with him out of pity!" Pam exclaimed, springing off her high stool. "Tell her, Eric!"

He couldn't think of a single word to say. His brain was in overdrive thinking who the fuck did he piss off monumentally to deserve this kind of punishment. She was going to leave _him_. Was it only ten minutes ago when he was bragging to Pam that they were going to New-fucking-York?

His injured hands trembled, itching to drive a hole into a dry wall.

He straightened his back and fixed his eyes on her. That was his first mistake. Because the moment their gazes locked he knew he'd give her anything she would ask for. And right now, she was looking for an ally. Begging for someone to understand.

He slid off his stool with a sigh. "Give us a moment, Pam," he said in a tone of cold command.

Pam pursed her lips, crossed her arms and stomped out of the kitchen, shooting her sister a don't-be-stupid look.

He marched toward the door, brushing past Sookie as he pushed the door shut behind Pam.

Sookie was wringing her hands when she turned to him. "Eric -"

He never let her voice out another word before he grabbed the back of her neck and dipped his head to seize her lips. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her. He could try; hell, she might even agree but he was certain she would hate herself for it. In her mind, the right thing to do would be to go to Dallas. To stand by Compton while he dealt with the tragedy.

It was killing him. And there was nothing he could do about it.

So he did the only thing he could do: He kissed her. By god he would kiss her while he still could.

She gasped when he bit her lip. He was enraged and frustrated and terribly conflicted. The idea of her with Compton was making him physically sick. He clenched his eyes shut to banish the images at once. A strained growl erupted from him before his tongue pierced her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself flush against him.

He could taste the salt from her tears rolling off her cheeks as he kissed her like only he could. Like only an insatiable and someone as pissed as hell could.

Then, without so much as a warning, he pulled away, leaving her panting, almost breathless as his forehead pressed against hers.

"Do what you have to do," he rasped, sweeping the pad of his thumb under her eyes.

She nodded, obedient for once. "Will you wait for me?"

"What the hell do you think I was doing all these years?"

* * *

**E/S**

_**Present day…**_

If he weren't looking solely at her he would have noticed his father stiffening at the very sight of him. He would have heard Michelle's audible gasp from across the room. He would have winced at the burning intensity of Bill's glare directed at him.

He didn't get to register any those reactions, all he saw was the heaving of her chest when her breath caught. The loosening of her fingers tangled with her husband's. The slight parting of her lips as she sucked in a pocket of air needed to breathe out one word.

"Eric."

He could be wrong but it sounded like a sigh of utter relief.

"Eric!" Compton's sharp voice cut through the air as Eric approached the couple.

It was a conscious effort to pry his gaze off her to address his host.

"Bill." Eric nodded stiffly. "I'm sorry for your loss." He _was_ truly sorry. Because Compton's loss was also his loss.

Compton's lips thinned before he flashed a badly disguised leer, "Thank you. My _wife_ and I appreciate it." He saw her eye twitch at the appellation.

Eric couldn't believe the sheer amount of self-control he had to use to ignore Compton's attempt to get a rise out of him. He had to remind himself that he was there to see her. And if playing nice with the weasel could buy him a few hours with her, then so be it.

Before Eric could offer another banal response, Godric and Michelle dashed hand in hand behind Compton.

"Eric," Godric called out. He could feel the nervous energy rippling from his father. "You should have told us you were also coming. We could have caught the same flight. Is Pam with you?"

"She couldn't make it. The baby can't travel yet and they couldn't leave him behind. She sent her sympathies though."

"Appreciate it," Bill murmured seemingly by rote, while making a grand effort to capture her hand.

Eric's jaw tightened at the gesture.

The silence that followed was ominous as they fell into an uncomfortable impasse.

Bill might be a fucktarded weasel and he might be a smug bastard. But they were both adults and they were both aware how to act when other people were watching.

Michelle was the first to blink. Sookie's mother could never pass for a spy. She would easily crack under the strain.

"Bill," Michelle whispered softly, "maybe you should start mingling. Your guests are getting antsy."

Compton tipped his head in assent to Michelle. He turned his attention back to him, gripping the side of her waist tightly. There was no denying the palpable tension between the three. It was almost theatrical. With a final stabbing glare, Compton and Sookie exited left.

* * *

**E/S**

Eric watched her fidget uneasily beside Compton on the silk-covered couch while guests after guests took turns sharing fond recollections of the deceased.

_This isn't hell._ _At least not yet. Purgatory, maybe_.

He found himself a quiet nook near the narrow hallway overlooking the living room at one end and the dining hall at the other. From his angle he could watch her closely and no one would suspect he was looking at her and not at the grieving son. Every once in a while he would bob his head to address familiar faces he recognized from all those summers he spent in Bel-Air with Lilith.

His father and Michelle tried to catch him but he managed to successfully avoid them. He was in no mood to be chastised for crashing a funeral. He didn't mind playing the callous villain. He was done being the willing victim.

Every move Compton made was derogatory. Like dragging a blade across his chest, making shallow cuts. But the thing with shallow cuts, they could be painfully annoying. And watching Bill flaunt her was sickening. How Compton would wrap his arm around her showing her off like a circus freak. How he would lean in to whisper in her ear. How he would throw a sidelong glance at Eric before he would reach out to pinch her shoulder, graze her thigh, brush her cheek.

Bill Compton was that kind of an asshole. But if he so much as try to kiss her, he would find out just what kind of an asshole Eric Northman could be.

Fortunately for everyone, she seemingly reached her quota of smarm as she peeled herself out of the weasel's vice-like grips and strolled into the massive kitchen beside the dining hall.

He bit his inner cheek to keep from grinning as he counted mentally to ten before he furtively slithered away from his spot and followed her.

Her back was turned to him as she exchanged mundane chitchat with one of the caterers, an olive-skinned Hispanic guy in his thirties. She was helping him arrange an assortment of hors d'oeuvres on the tray to be taken out to the family room.

He moved behind her swiftly and quietly before he stretched his arm to reach for a skewer of cherry tomato and mozzarella ball from one of the trays. His arm brushed against hers and she instantly froze, making her drop a devilled egg on the tabletop with a splat.

He bit back a chuckle as he mumbled, "sorry," his chin almost grazing the top of her head.

She whipped to face him, her cheeks bright red. The server turned away from them to fumble for the napkin roll by the sink to wipe the mess off the table.

Her lower lip quivered, fighting off a smile. Goddamn.

The caterer, who just couldn't take a fucking hint, circled to their side with a paper towel and started dabbing the tabletop clean.

"Lemme do that Jesus," Sookie blurted, snapping out of her trance. "It's my fault. I'm so clumsy." She gave the guy one of her apologetic smirk and the man in a white uniform beamed back at her while still insisting on tidying up. Apparently, Eric wasn't the only one defenseless against the power of Sookie's self-deprecating smile.

He must be the fucking devil for seriously contemplating bribing a man named Jesus to make himself scarce.

Sookie cleared her throat, thanked the waiter again then looked up at him. "How was your flight?" she asked, eyeing the other guy cautiously.

"Turbulent," Eric replied without a pause. Fourteen fucking days and here she was standing so close to him that he could practically smell the lilacs in her hair.

Her throat moved as she swallowed hard.

"Sorry about that. But still, I— Bill –uhm-we appreciate you coming here," she said haltingly. Their audience was obviously making her nervous.

"Pam misses you."

She stilled as she homed in on him. She knew exactly what – or who - he meant.

"I miss her too. So much."

"She wants you to come home. She was losing her mind. She's fucking hopeless like that."

Her eyes glazed. "I will," she choked, "soon."

He saw her hands fist at the side. Together they lapsed into silence. She was restraining herself from touching him. And so was he. This must be what impotence felt like.

"Darling?"

_Give me a fucking break!_

Sookie snapped her head to the direction of the door, startled. Unlike her, Eric didn't budge. He already knew what weasels looked like up close.

Compton strode toward them then hooked his arm around her middle. It was like Bill was genetically programmed to torment Eric. And damn if it wasn't working.

"Some of the guests are leaving, dear. They wanted to thank you for being the perfect hostess." Bill turned to him. "Eric, do you mind if I take _my wife_ away?" He could almost hear the italicization of the label.

"Sure," he shrugged. "I'm leaving anyway," he forced himself to sound casual.

His chest tightened when she peered up at him, seemingly appalled by the announcement of his departure. He would have liked to stay but he was afraid a third urn might find its way onto the top of the Compton's mantle if he did.

"Can you find your way out?" Bill drawled dryly.

Eric sighed before his lips tugged into a sarcastic lopsided smirk. "I'll yell if I get lost."

Before Compton could react, Eric leaned in to put a chaste kiss on her cheek. He was only expressing his gratitude to the perfect hostess. No harm with that, right?

The scowl on Compton's face said otherwise.

* * *

**E/S**

"Are you sure?" he asked Alcide while he traced the figure-eight loop of the manila envelope his childhood friend slid next to his Bud light on top of the scratched wooden bar.

They had decided to meet at a low key pub in downtown Los Angeles the day after the memorial service. There were only a handful of patrons in the bar. It was a little over three in the afternoon. Off-peak hour. Way too early for the happy hour, which naturally gave them the privacy they needed.

Alcide kept his eyes glued to the widescreen TV on the wall, which was showing a rerun of classic baseball match-ups.

Alcide bobbed his head. "It's all there. The phone bills and the number of the escort service he uses. I've managed to get a hold of one of his favorites. The transcript of the interview is included in the initial report. Read with caution, man. It's very unsettling." Alcide nearly shivered, which made Eric all the more curious. "He's very finicky, though. And he covers his tracks well. He pays 'em in cash to avoid money trail. So if we really want to nail him, we'll have to catch him in the act."

Eric lifted his beer to take a sip. "Let's set up trap then."

"We'll have to wait for him to return from his trip to Ibiza. It seems he's taking his wife there every year for their anniversary. He won't be back until next week."

Eric let out a grunt. _Fantastic._ He had to wait, _again._

"How 'bout _her_? Did you manage to get any dirt on _her_?"

Alcide shook his head. "The Cat handles all her dealings. If he's careful with his personal affairs, he's operating with utmost paranoia when it came to hiding hers. Bottom line is: she picked the right hatchet man."

Eric downed his beer and ordered one more. He would need at least two more to get any sleep tonight.

"Now are you going to tell me what that asshat had done to Sookie?"

Eric cast a sideway glance at his old buddy who finally sheared his unruly black hair. "What makes you think it had something to do with her?"

Alcide rolled his eyes and snorted. "C'mon, Eric. Everyone knows she's the only one who can summon the psycho in you."

Eric huffed but never said a word to contradict the statement.

"I was actually surprised you didn't ask me to spy on Compton."

"I have a different brand of justice for him," Eric replied grimly.

"Weren't you like BFFs before? Boy, you sure know how to pick your pals," Alcide grumbled. "Remember when we were friends? And then I moved to DC and you made a move on my girl?"

Eric threw a pointed look at Alcide then sniggered. "_Your_ girl? When you had your haircut, did your barber accidently slice a chunk of your brain too? Let me refresh your memory by reintroducing you to Chuck," he fisted his left hand and held it up, followed by his right fist, "and Norris."

Their epic fight which ended with an epic draw when Sookie caught them was the first and the last. Alcide came back to DC the day after and they never talked about it again. Alcide never made another attempt of rekindling old flame with Sookie, and Eric took that as a win for Team Northman.

Alcide made a face as he took a long swig of his beer. "For your information, _jackass_, you didn't scare me off. _She_ did."

Eric's eyebrow cocked.

"She told me that the next time I engage you in a pissing contest, she'd tweeze out all the hair off my body," Alcide relayed, chuckling grudgingly. "Well, look at me. I have hair everywhere so naturally I fuckin' caved."

There was a gurgling noise followed by a low wheezing sound as Eric coughed. Beer went down the wrong pipe.

Alcide laughed out loud, taking a small comfort from his misery. Eric joined in when his coughing tapered off.

"That girl is scary as fuck when she's mad," Alcide muttered. "And you are one lucky sonofabitch."

Eric smirked. There was no arguing with the truth.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are all effin' awesome! XO**

**Amandagm, you know I love you!**


	18. Chapter 18

_**One week later, back in Seattle…**_

"You must be Bill," said a petite brunette with a prominent jaw donning chef's whites. She sat across from him, sliding in the beige cushioned booth in Lilith's upscale restaurant in downtown Seattle.

Bill covered his mouth with the white square cloth to spit a small chewed-up chunk of meat. He threw the cloth on top of his plate before he reached for his third glass of Shiraz to wash the scurvy taste in his tongue before he looked up to address the newcomer.

"Nora, I presume?" He would have used her full name as a proper gentleman should but he was irked at the breezy way she had spoken to him.

The brunette nodded. "How's your steak?" she said in a thick British accent, eyeing his plate.

His lips thinned. "Dry. I asked for rare and they gave me medium well."

She leered as she sank into her seat. "You are quite the charmer, aren't you? It's a bloody mystery why your wife's cheating on you."

His jaw tightened. Eric really had a type: Pompous, sarcastic bitches.

"Why am I here?" he decided to cut this meeting short.

She reached into her chef jacket's pocket. A shrill cling of the gold wedding ring against the patterned china grated his eardrum.

"I didn't realize _'forevermore'_ only lasts a month in Bill time," she ridiculed, emphasizing the engraving inside the wedding band he gave to Sookie when they tied the knot in Vermont.

When he had questioned the whore where her missing ring was, she told him she had lost it while doing laundry. He knew it was an utter lie but he didn't have the energy to call out her bull.

"I found it in Eric's pants when I was looking for him in his apartment," she offered without him asking.

He should have known.

"Does anyone else know you have this? Except for Lilith, of course." It was Lilith who set up his meeting with Nora after all.

She scoffed, leaning toward him, her arms folded on the tabletop. "Why?" she cooed. "Are you afraid the missus will find out?"

"You're one to talk," he snapped with a derisive snort. "Tell me, Nora, does Eric know you have this?"

Her smile twisted into a scowl. "You know none of this would have happened had you kept a tight leash on your wife."

"The same could be said about you," he volleyed back. He slid off the booth and scooped his wallet out. He took a couple of crisp bills and dumped them on the table. "I'll take care of it. This conversation never happened."

* * *

**E/S**

Bill had spent most his life living in the shadows. Not by choice. He craved recognition and the fame that came with it. That was probably one of the reasons he became a reporter. If he couldn't be the person people write about then he should be the person writing about people. It gave him power and authority. He could spin lies and tell truths and _no one_ would be able to tell the difference.

No. One.

Tonight, however, he opted to be a shadow as he chose the darkest corner in the bar. He fiddled with the ring Nora gave him earlier, rolling it across the high cocktail table, flicking it with his thumb and whacking it with his palm before it could roll off the table.

"Care if I join you?" a deep husky voice came up from behind him. He didn't turn around to glance at the source of the sound. He just pocketed the ring, grabbed his first scotch of the night and took a small sip.

The blonde with deep brown eyes and full red lips sidled next to him. Without looking at her, he fished for the hotel card key from the pocket of his gray corduroy jacket and skated it near her glass of dirty martini.

"Nineteen twenty-four," was all he said before he slipped off his stool and darted for the exit.

He went to the lobby, using that time to place a call to his P.I. to check on the whore. His slut of a wife had been very nice and proper ever since his parents died. Guilt, it seemed, was a potent elixir to resuscitate a dying marriage.

There was nothing notable in the investigator's report. Sookie went to a job interview then visited her sister in First Hill. She dropped by a liquor shop to buy bottles of wine. Bill instantly felt optimistic after hearing about her purchase but his hope for a blue-moon-fuck was quashed when the PI added quickly that the wines weren't for her but for their neighbors. Apparently the whore decided to give away gifts to win over the families next-door.

That seemed about right. Whores were always trying to please people_._

He kept the call short. He glanced at his watch and exactly fifteen minutes after he walked out of the hotel bar, he went up to the room he booked and rang the bell three times. The door flew open not a minute longer.

"Hey handsome," the blonde purred, a glass of whiskey in her hand.

He took the heavy glass from her as he stepped in. "You know the drill," he grumbled.

Unlike his adulterous wife, he knew how to cover his tracks. He watched his mistress wipe the lipstick off her full mouth with a moist towelette before she secured her long blonde wig with bobby pins. He even had her wear the same brand of perfume as Sookie's to avoid detection on his clothes. Spin lies, tell truths. No one would be able to tell the difference.

"When did you fly in?" he asked the woman who was slowly stripping in front of him.

"Two nights ago. I love the loft you got me. It has the most spectacular view of the needle. We should meet there next time."

He didn't say another word as the woman he had been seeing for more than a year now went down on her knees and started pleasuring him the way his whore back home refused to.

* * *

**E/S**

Five was the lucky number.

Five hours and a fifth of whiskey later, he came home tipsy and still extremely annoyed.

It was a little past two in the morning and only the light on the front porch was turned on when he pulled into the garage.

He saw a light flicker from the house across the street and noticed their neighbor's drapes being pulled halfway. He could only see a blurry silhouette and knew that the lowlife was spying on him. He would have flipped off the meddlesome deadbeat but he was too busy loathing his wife to be mad at someone else.

He pushed the button to shut the garage door behind him before he stumbled inside through the kitchen door. Toeing his leather shoes off at the foot of the stairs, he careened to their bedroom to find his slut.

"Honey, I'm home!" he slurred.

He found her sleeping, lying on her side right at the very edge of their king size bed. She always slept like that. Her back to him as though waking up to the sight of him would make her wretch.

He kneeled beside her and flicked the night lamp to see her better.

_Ah, such an innocent angel._

He twirled a lock of her hair around his index and middle fingers, brought it to his nose and took a long drag. Her hair smelled of green apple, or was it lilac? Maybe it was the smell of children's tears. He heard she-devils love to bathe in tears.

Her lips parted to let out a whimper. He almost smiled. It would have been so easy if she had just learned to love him. They would have been so perfect.

Why the hell did she have to love another man?

He let go of her hair and brushed her forehead with the tip of his fingers. She let out another moan. Only this time the moan carried a name that made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

_Eric._

Was she dreaming of fucking him?

Was she thinking it was the bastard's hands stroking her face?

His teeth gnashed as his eyes landed on the pillow beside her. His hand itched to grab the pillow and smother her with it. Silence her forever. End his misery.

He pinched his eyes shut, shaking off the homicidal thought. He wouldn't give her the luxury of a quick death, he reminded himself.

With a heavy breath, he dipped his head to kiss her cheek. She flinched, startled at the contact. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision.

"Bill!" she bolted upright, tugging the blanket to cover herself.

"I'm sorry," he drawled. "I didn't mean to wake you, sweetheart."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly. "What time is it?"

"Two? I think?" He made an exaggerated effort to check the clock radio beside the night lamp. "The boys in the office dragged me to have a few drinks. Rite of passage, I guess."

She was still tensed as she continued to eye him. "Again?"

He wouldn't even dignify that with a response. She had no right to be judgmental.

"Go to sleep then. We have to wake up early for Hunter's christening."

Bill repressed the urge to roll his eyes._ Hunter_, _what a tacky name to give a child_. He expected something classier from Pamela given that she was a class-A snob.

His lips broke into a toothy grin instead. "Well, now that you're up maybe we can…" He looked at her through heavy lidded eyes, knowing well enough that the whore would catch his drift.

"It's late Bill." She caught it alright.

_Excuses, fucking, excuses._ He wondered if she kept a list of alibis somewhere because she never seemed to run out of them. Bill couldn't remember the last time they had slept together. It was probably in Vermont, when they consummated their marriage that first night. It was a conscious effort to recall it because frankly it was forgettable to say the least. A corpse would have been warmer than the frigid bitch.

"Would you like a drink first? I think I saw a bottle of vodka downstairs," he retorted acidly.

"Stop it!" she snapped with a glare.

He clenched his jaw as he straightened up so he could look down on her. For once he wanted to be the one with the upper hand.

"Am I really that revolting, Sookie? That you have to be out of your fucking mind to have sex with me?"

"Bill!" she spat, crossing her arms defensively.

"So you _do_ know my name," he sneered, the high level of alcohol in his blood made his tongue loose. "It's not so hard to remember, isn't it? _Bill_. One syllable. One fucking syllable. Is that so hard to remember?"

"Bill, please!"

"Yes, sweetheart, like that," he prodded. "_Bill_, please. Bill. Bill. Bill! _Not Eric_!"

The tick on her jaw made him realize he might have overplayed his card.

"You're drunk," she said tersely, springing off the bed while pushing past him. She grabbed her pillow and hugged it. "I'll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed."

He winced when the door slammed behind her. He could hear her footsteps as she pounded down the stairs.

Muttering profanities under his breath, he hurled his pillow at the door then fell face flat on the bed as he waited for sleep to give him reprieve from his personal hell.

* * *

**E/S**

There were better ways to wake up from a fitful sleep. This was not one of them.

His hand desperately reached for the pillow beside him to cover his face as the glare of the morning sun hit his eyes.

"Pull back the curtains!" he ordered gruffly when he heard her heels click against the hardwood floor.

"It's almost nine. There's aspirin and Gatorade beside you. Take them and hop in the shower. I'll lay your clothes on the bed," came her clinical voice.

He sat up, leaning his head against the headboard, using his hand as blinders as he tried to follow her movements. Her hair was in a loose braid swept to the side. She was wearing a virginal white dress topped with a light yellow cardigan. She looked every bit like a sweet Stepford wife. Too bad she was tramp.

"C'mon, Bill," she whined, checking her vintage silver watch - the only piece of jewellery she insisted on wearing—which was a gift from her grandmother. "We still have to pick up the cake and drop it off at Pam's before we go to the chapel."

She was rummaging the closet for his clothes, acting as though they hadn't had a fight last night. That had always been the norm with her. Eric was their Pandora's box. Once in a while he would open it and she would fight him to keep it shut. Like her own little vault that no one else was supposed to see, touch or, heaven forbid, unlock. They would argue. More precisely, he would rant and explode and she would shut down and wait for him to finish. He would leave and she would let him. She was too proud to chase after him. He would crawl back to her and they would sweep everything under the rug. Pretending it never happened was the key to maintaining their relationship.

In short, it was just another day in paradise.

Not today though. Not this time.

"Call Pam. Tell her we can't make it."

She stilled for a moment before she whirled to face him. "I'm not gonna do that."

"I'm still mourning, Sookie. I'm sure even someone as callous as your sister can understand if I'm not too keen on welcoming her bastard into the Christian world."

He saw her hands fisted on the side. "Funny, you don't seem to remember you're supposed to be grieving while you were out drinking with your buddies for the past week since we got here."

He sneered sarcastically. "This is rich. I'm getting judged by the resident wino."

Her stare tightened along with her jaw. "I'm not a drunk. Unlike you, I haven't had a drink in weeks."

"So that explains drought in our bedroom."

"Is that why you're snippy?" It was her turn to use sarcasm. "Because I'm not lettin' you have some?"

"To name a few, yes."

"I'm your wife, Bill. I'm not your whore. And we're not going to have this conversation now. I'm going to Hunter's christening. With or without you." She spun on her heel and dashed to the door.

Bill shot out of bed fast enough to catch her by her shoulder. He forced her to turn to him before she could reach for the knob. "You're not leaving."

"Watch me." She tried to shrug out of his grasp but that only made his grip tighten.

"Are you that desperate to see _him_?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Leave Eric out of this."

He snorted derisively as he reached inside his pants. He hadn't had a chance to change before he fell asleep.

"Look what I found." He held up the ring to her face. She had a good poker face but the slight tensing of her shoulder belied her expression.

He waited for the denial that he was certain would come. The lies and the excuses that never seemed to end.

She jutted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. "Where did you find it?"

He recoiled, caught off guard by her blunt admission.

"Do you want me to lie, dear, and tell you I found it in the Laundromat where you claimed to have lost it? Or do you want the truth and tell you Nora found it in _her boyfriend's_ pants?"

She twitched at the deliberate stab. "I didn't realize you and Nora were friends," she deflected.

"We share common interests," he drawled. "Tell me, darling, how did it get into Eric's pocket? Did it come off while you were taking off his pants right before you fucked him?"

"I didn't sleep with him," she gritted as she tried to roll her shoulder off his grip.

He dug his nails deeper, feeling the sheer fabric of her cardigan yielding to his fingers.

"But you wanted to, didn't you?" he snarled, his face inches from hers. She turned her head away. Must be from the stench of sour breath mixed with stale scotch. He moved closer, determined to torture her.

"Didn't you?!" he screamed again.

To her credit she didn't flinch nor blink. Not a tear in her emotionless eyes. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly before she whispered, "Yes".

The impact of her response was too hard as he sagged before he backpedalled toward the bed and slumped at the edge of the mattress. He gripped the back of his head with both hands as he stooped down.

"You know what a husband's worst fear is?" he hushed. "It's not finding his wife in bed with another man. It's lying in bed with his wife knowing she's thinking of another man."

Spin lies, tell truths. No one would be able to tell the difference.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own Eric. **

**Next up is Sookie's POV. **

**Thank you so much for reading AND leaving thoughtful remarks! I love them all!**

**The awesome amandagm helped me make it a bit more readable. All other mistakes are mine because I'm a stubborn B. **

**Love, love!**


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